


After You

by theobliviouswriter



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, first fic, im trying, pls dont kill me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-12-21 04:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 101,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11936421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theobliviouswriter/pseuds/theobliviouswriter
Summary: What if Simon Snow had never gone off that night in 2008?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm new to the Carry On fandom and this is my first fic for this crowd! I hope you guys enjoy!

**Simon**

 Dull. The world is dull. I wake up and follow the same routine every day. Routines are safe. They are boring. I am not used to routine. I'm used to moving around every other year to a new foster home. I'm used to being unsure if one of my “siblings” may or may not have sat on my bed and soiled the fresh linens I made sure were clean daily. I'm used to loud, busy, bustling, but as soon as I moved out, everything changed. And it was boring.

School was boring. Routine. Dull. Work was boring. Routine. Dull. But here I am, turning off my alarm clock so I can start my drab, lousy day.

It is a Saturday. All I do on Saturdays is go to work for twelve hours straight and bust my arse, doing things my co-workers won't. That includes making the drinks, sweeping and mopping the floors, taking the drive-thru orders. You name it, I do it. Mostly because I want a raise, partly because no one else will.

Thirty minutes before work—that's what my clock reads. I take showers at night, so it's really not an issue. All I have to do is shrug on my all-black uniform and step out of the flat. That requires minimum effort.

Oh, and my hair. That takes the most work.

My hair has always been thick and curly, and making sure it’s styled right is always a royal pain. I wear it to be fashioned in my face, the curls hitting just on my brow. The sides and back are shorter, but I like my hair enough to let the top grow. I can admit, I need a hair trim soon, but not yet. It's at the perfect length.

Shoving myself up from my bed, I try my best to think positively about the day. New people, new faces, new random drink-like concoctions to make. It's almost like brewing some sort of potion.

Then, there's always the customers you see every day. They come in with the same order and the same smile on their face as soon as I give them what they ask for. Before my regulars leave, they always anoint me with a, “This is your best one yet!” I guess that's what I get for working as a London Barista for the last couple years of my life. You learn what flavours match and what tastes completely disregard each other. I guess I have a hand at some sort of coffee magic.

Shimmying into my black trousers, I catch a glance of myself in the mirror of the bathroom; I don't remember leaving the door open, I must've been bloody tired to allow _that_ to happen. Surprisingly, I don’t look like a mess. And even more surprisingly, my hair looks to be in perfect place.

I shrug it off. Means less time worrying if my cowlicks will make my thick hair look ridiculous or not and more time getting my arse to the shoppe. I like to be early. That's _not_ routine.

After pulling on the uniform jumper I usually wear when I'm cold, I bolt down the four flights of stairs and climb into my car. I mosey down the road in my 96’ Volkswagen a few minutes later.

I make it in optimal time to buy a drink for myself before I have to start my shift. I do that a lot of the time. I like to listen in on the news of London. I don't know much of what's going on. Don't have much money to live on. I can barely afford my own flat, let alone own a Telly with cable or a mobile. _This_ is how I find out the news. This is how I find out what is going on in the world.

Sometimes, my regulars will fill me in. Tell me what's happening on the streets of London. New parliamentary laws, what the queen has been up to. Things such as. I've never been a politics person, but my regulars oftentimes complain to me like I am. I just smile and nod. That seems to be enough for them.

Stepping into the coffee shoppe, I notice how hectic the atmosphere is. Everyone’s rushing and the shoppe is packed. Because of this, I know that I have to step in and help, which makes me somewhat upset. However, I always expect it. Many of the people who work with me are thick, so thick they can't even make a blasted coffee without jacking up the damned machine.

I step behind the counter dividing the shop from the kitchen and place my hands on my hips, taking in the scene before me. From what I can tell, there was a spill and that spill was holding the entire kitchen up.

Gits.

Per usual, I take my place behind the counter and look up, noticing one of my regulars. She looks unamused until she notices me. A smile spreads across her alabaster face. “Simon, bless you!”

I laugh. They must've been trying to clean up for a while. “Hello, Miss Berry. Same thing?”

She always gets a white chocolate mocha, soy because she is lactose intolerant. She has one of the simpler orders, which I appreciate since I'm going to have to work around the bloody idiots that can't work a coffee machine. (Even I lied about knowing how to work one in my interview, but it didn't take me that fucking long to figure out how to work it.)

“Yes, please! Oh, you're a dream, Simon. They've been at _that_ for the past ten minutes,” Miss Berry informs me, nodding her head towards the wankers trying to get their shit together.

I turn around and tut. I can’t believe I work with them.

“Coming right up!” I say, then turn towards the coffee machine and properly use it to make her drink.

It takes a good thirty minutes of fulfilling people’s orders, but I'm finally able to relax after. The lot of them finished cleaning ten minutes in and one of them began to take orders from the drive-thru. The shoppe’s now empty, so I am able to turn to them and give a lecture without a customer driving up or walking in.

“What in the bloody hell was that?” I ask, raising a brow at the sorry excuses for co-workers. “Why in the hell was the blasted kitchen flooded with espresso?”

Suddenly, a quiet cry erupts from the small crowd I gathered. A couple of the workers part to reveal a young, new employee standing there. She looks absolutely gutted. I feel terrible.

For the oddest reason, I have been short tempered lately, so short tempered that I _swear_ I feel like I'm on fire. I can see sparks, even, at times. I have quite the imagination, but sometimes it feels _so impeccably_ real.

Maybe it's the season change. It's close to Autumn and I'm about to enter my final year of secondary school. Then college. _Will the routine ever end?_

“I swear I didn't mean to, Simon! That's your name, right? Simon Snow?” the young employee sniffs, trying her best not to keep her tears from falling. They relentlessly leak from her eyes.

I become desperate. I don't know if she has the ability to stop, but as soon as I plead with a, “ ** _Stop crying_** ”, she does.

I'm surprised. She was pretty sodden, but I dismiss it. There's work to be done, even though the coffee shoppe is empty.

 

**Baz**

I don't drink coffee. Never have. I'll have the candy-flavoured frappuccino shit if that counts. Does that count? I don't know. I don't care. All I know is that I have one more day to spend in London and two more days out of Watford.

You would think that I would be excited for my eighth year, but really, there's little to no challenge. Penelope Bunce and I are neck in neck for top of class, but the minute I become serious about my studies, she’ll be cut. I'm a star on the football field, so I win without a single bloody care. There's no _challenge_ , no _motivation_ , no _drive_. So, really, if the year was already over, I would be tip-top happy. Well, as happy as I can get. Is it possible for happiness to exist within me? I really don't know. Or don't care. Not at all.

I glance up at the giant, two-tailed mermaid hanging from the front of the downtown London coffee shoppe. _Might as well get a cup of sugar_ , I think. They don't have those at Watford, frappuccinos or whatever the bloody hell they're called. But they're good and I could go for one more before I dive head first back into the world of magic.

The minute I step into the shoppe, I feel a sudden attraction, a sudden pull. I don't know to what, but it feels as if it's in my gut. Is that weird? I feel a _pull_ like a magnet finding it's polar opposite. And when I look up in the direction I'm heading towards, I understand why.

The life practically radiates off this sod that's staring back at me. His cheeks are flushed, tinged with a baby pink and I don't think he even realizes it. But I do think he feels the pull too. And I see the look on his face, in his eyes.

He's not Normal.

I try my best to ignore the polar attraction and place both palms on the counter as soon as I reach it. “Pumpkin Mocha Breve.”

It looks like it takes a moment for—I look at his name tag—Simon Snow to register what I'm saying. When he does, his face twists up in confusion.

“What's that?” He blinks a couple of times, his ordinarily blue eyes boring into mine. His rosebud lips are puckered, his freckled skin flushed.

“C’mon, Snow. Everyone knows what that is.” I hassle him. I hassle everyone.

If it is possible, I think he only goes redder in the face as he grabs a cup—a grande, like I like it—and pops open a sharpie. Crowley, this guy's a mess.

“Not me… j-just tell me and I'll make it.” Snow stutters, making an unforgiving smirk to find a way to my face.

To bully the bastard or give in?

I don't feel like being an arse today. Plus, I can admit that I admire the unknown power residing in him. I can tell there's _something_ and it's all in that gut attraction.

So, I give him my order. And he reads it off. Perfectly. He must not be as dense as he seems.

“Is there anything else you would like?” Snow asks me, brushing a bronze curl out of his eyes. (I want to stop him, I like the way it hangs in his face.)

I'm tempted to say, _“Your number_.” I refrain. No need in tying myself up in something when I'll never see the tosser again.

“Nothing.”

Snow just smiles, and I would return it. But I can't. Fangs. So, I give a little more money than I owe, say, “Keep it,” and slip onto a chair next to the pickup station.

It is a blast watching the twit grope around for different syrups and milks and ice. I may have made the order just a wee bit complicated, but watching him run around with a strange amount of gracefulness is amusing. Plus, it allows me a little peek of his—

“Finished.”

Snow stands there, across from me, holding out a clear cup of Pumpkin Mocha Breve frappuccino.

“You know, Simon. We’re not supposed to use the pumpkin spice yet,” one of the employees says to Snow, but he mindlessly waves it off as he meets me at the pickup station.

Again, that gut attraction is alarming to me. If there wasn't a bloody counter between us, we would probably attach at the stomach. That's just how strong the pull is.

“Surprised you could make it,” I say, taking the sweating cup from his hand.

Small talk usually isn't my thing, not at all. But...but, I feel like I'm on to something. With, you know, the fact that there feels like there's some sort of connection between us. It isn't a vampire thing—he's too red, too brazen. It has to be a magician thing, but I have ever seen him at Watford and he would probably be in my year. There's only forty-nine of us, so I know there's no way that the boy in front of me goes to Watford.

Why isn't he at Watford? My mum died and the Mage took over, making sure all magicians big and small would be able to go. Was he simply skipped over, or am I reading too much into this?

Maybe I can get him to try a spell. **Some like it hot**. That will do.

“So, you ever make this?” I know he hasn't. He made it obvious just moments before.

Snow blinks a few times. “No.”

I nod, staring at him coldly as I pull the wrap from the top of my straw and take a sip. Crowley, it's delicious. But I don't let that get in the way.

“Not at all? Isn't a pumpkin spice latte familiar?” I take another sip, trying my best to keep my fangs from brushing against the inside of my mouth. It probably looks like I got something in my bloody mouth.

Snow glances over my shoulder, I guess to make sure that no one else is walking in and nods, leaning against the wall. I notice his hips buck forward slightly, almost confirming that pull isn't just me.

He settles himself, crossing his arms over his chest. Again, he pushes a strand of bronze hair out of his eyes and this time, I reach out. But I stop myself before I touch him. I pretend to swat a fly from the air, even though I'm very capable of making the hypothetical fly fall from the air with a simple, “ **And we all fall down**.”

But I don't. First off, he wouldn't know what I'm doing. And I won't use any spells until I make sure the bloke in front of me isn't a dud.

“Not necessarily. I mean, we use the pumpkin syrup that I wasn't actually allowed to give you since it's ‘not in season yet’, but that's about it.” Snow smiles. It's a nervous smile.

“How do people usually take it?” I would compel him if I could, but I do not feel like being arrested for trying to find out if Snow is some sort of cryptid or magician or not. The question has to work. If he says it with magic, I don’t know. I'll repeat the question if it doesn't click at first. But whatever will work. I need to try and get it out of him.

“Well,” Snow looks over my shoulder again, then back at me, “A lot of people like cold drinks in the summer, but **some like it hot**.”

He says it, but the magic doesn't roll through him. It doesn't carry out through his words. But I am determined, determined to get that damned spell out of his bloody mouth.

I pretend that I don't understand. I raise a brow and say, “What was the last thing you said?”

I heard it crystal clear.

Snow looks flustered, but repeats, “I said, **some like it hot**.”

I cock my head, trying to keep a smirk off my face and a look of confusion twisting my features. “ _What_? Speak up.”

Huffing, Snow says, loudly, “ ** _Some like it hot_**.”

I feel the frappuccino melt within the cup and practically boil, but I ignore it and hold the cup behind my back. I don't know if he realizes his power, but I certainly do.

“Oh, okay.” I let out a laugh, cupping my ear with a brow raise. “Can't hear all too well.” Exactly the opposite, really. But the boy must be bloody gullible. Normals always are, and he was raised as one as far as I know. If the Mage knew about him, he'd whip the boy up in an instant, but where would he be placed? He's an eighth year with a no-year education. Or maybe he's self-educated. Or maybe he's completely oblivious to powers. Crowley, I need to stop speculating.

Instead of saying anything, Snow nods. Then, he steps back and goes to work on something, I don't know. What I do know is that it's my cue to leave, so I silently slip out of the coffee shoppe, disposing the ruined frappuccino. It was worth the money, and there's no doubt that I'll be back, and soon.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

**Simon**

The rest of the day droned by, all twelve hours. The lunchtime rush surged in a couple of hours after I clocked in, the uni study group made their way to the shoppe around eight, and we closed up at nine. I left at nine as well. I was going to let my slacker co-workers cover my arse for once so I could get home and destress. I was tired, but now that I’m home, I’m not tired at all.

I walked into a lightless apartment. Literally. I flicked each and every switch, but nothing. And then I remembered: I forgot to pay the electric bill.

I thought it was bad at first, annoying. I never go to sleep as soon as I get back to my flat. I usually make myself hot chocolate, warm up some scones, and doodle. There’s not much else to do. And when I’m done with my food, I usually walk. It keeps my head clear, keeps me from thinking too much. In these past few weeks, it’s been extra helpful. It cools me off when I’m warm with anger, and let me tell you, these past few weeks have been _infuriating_.

It’s another infuriating moment right now, so infuriating that I feel a warm curl in my stomach. The feeling makes me want to throw up, and the _smell_. Smoke fills my nose, as if I’m actually catching on fire, so to keep myself from figuratively doing so, I slam my flat door closed, stomp down the four flights of stairs, and make my way down towards the Thames.

My apartment is right along the river, which is nice. I often times perch on a bench and stare out at the river, wishing for a life better than the one I have, praying that I can someday be rich enough to have a house and a dog and modern accommodations like most normal people have. But I’m far from normal and it’s rare for chaps like me to get out a state of poverty. Start with nothing, end with nothing. I can try, and that’s what I’m going to do once I reach uni, but I don’t even know what I like!

I’ve never really appealed to anything. Living in multiple foster homes, you learn to build your walls high, so high that you yourself can’t climb them. It takes a bulldozer to knock them down, but there’s no form of communication, no reason to crash into my inner core. I wish I had an interest. I don’t I draw for fun; it’s a coping mechanism, not an enjoyment.

So, I’m lost. I’m always lost.

The cool river breeze rolls over me as soon as I take a seat on the bench near the river. I’m glad I have my jumper on, it’s always cooler at night and near a body of water. But I enjoy feeling cool when my insides are melting. It balances my equilibrium, I think.

For once, I don’t have much to think about. I’ve already wished for something more several times—it hasn’t worked thus far—and have little to dwell on. My past is too distant and future’s too uncertain. So, I sit there, allowing my mind to go blank.

Sometimes, I don’t think. I don’t _want_ to think. I need a brain break, and I begin to feel like it’s one of those moments when I need a mental breather. Not much has happened at all, but it seems like my mind is screaming at me for some reason and I don’t know why.

So, I sit in silence.

For a while, nothing crosses my mind. It’s an empty, blank space. I like moments where my mind shuts off, but it begins to become too much so I think of one peculiar thing that happened today and my mind falls on _him_.

I don’t know who the sod is, or where he came from. I never saw him before or have ever seen anyone quite like him. He was tall—only a few inches taller than me—and pale, but not the type of pale any human would be. He looked _grey_ and dead, but he was standing there, drinking the interesting concoction I made for him. (I tried it later and it wasn’t all that bad.) That wasn’t the strangest part, however. What really wigged me out was the feeling that roused in me the minute I saw him. There was this attraction, this draw towards the grey looking prat. I still don’t know what to call it. I wasn’t attracted to him in _that_ way. No, but there was a power beyond me that made me feel as if I’m supposed to know the bloke. There was a mixture of warmth and sporadicy. I don’t know what it means to feel that way, but after he left, I felt emotionally and physically drained. I haven’t any idea why, I only talked to him, but it felt like so much more. It felt warm and unsure. I’m scared of what the bloke made me feel, yet I want to know more.

 

**Baz**

Penelope Bunce is an unreliable friend, I decided in first year. She was always off doing something with Agatha or talking to Micah. But when it came to helping me with spells or being a shoulder to lean on (which never happens, except once when I sprained my ankle in third year) or just talking, she was so bloody relentless. She would sometimes show up in my room, unannounced and uninvited, wanting to talk to me, wanting advice, wanting _something_.

And that was why I considered her unreliable. _She always wanted_ … until last year.

Someone like me has very few friends on campus. I’m obviously not like them ( _them_ being my peers). Sure, I have Dev and Niall, but they’re more like minions than friends. When I feel like having a man-on-man talk with either of them, they simply absorb the information I spew and blink mindlessly, like they didn’t hear anything. It’s nice to vent and get my issues off my chest, but sometimes I need a voice of reason.

And last year, I didn’t have much of one. I was down on my luck and so bloody sad, and when Penny noticed just how… I was, she began to make more of an effort of visiting me to make sure _I_ was okay and _I_ wasn’t lonely in the turret during the day. She would spend the night sometimes, managing to _never_ get caught, somehow, but the arrangements were for the best—so she didn’t have to mess with pixie Trixie and I didn’t have to feel so bloody alone all the time.

It’s another one of those moments where I’m solely depending on Penny, and it’s all because of the Snow git from the blasted coffee shoppe. I know there’s something in him, something magical, but since all of the Old Families hate the Mage so much, it’s going to be hard to do much about the situation I’m in. I can’t simply say, “Hey mum, dad, while I was in London, I found a bloke my age and I positive that he’s a magician! I don’t recognize him from Watford, but I made him cast a spell unknowingly and he actually did it!” First off, that’s not me. Secondly, if I even suggested talking to the Mage about this (under a dire situation, of course), my father would probably cast some spell on me that would keep me from speaking until he was sure that I wouldn’t mention it.

So, in natural instinct, I have to turn to Penelope.

“You found someone?” she asks; I can practically hear her brows wiggle through my home phone.

“It’s _not_ like _that_ Penelope Bunce, and I will hang up if you try to pull that card,” I sneer, self-consciously crossing an arm across my chest.

Penelope lets out a laugh. “Okay, then what’s going on, Baz? You sound worried. You’re _never_ worried.”

She’s right, I’m always cool, collected, and graceful. I rarely let her see an indifferent side of me.

“Well…” I collapse on the couch in my room, kicking my feet up on the arm of the sofa. “I found a magician.”

For a moment, the line goes silent. I’m unsure if I should brace myself for an earful of laughter or a lecture until she says, “Wait, really?”

I shrug like she can see me. “I indirectly coerced him into boiling my bloody Pumpkin Mocha Breve frappuccino, and he _did_. The bloke ruined my drink.”

“Aleister Crowley, Baz! How did you know that he was a magician?” Penny is speaking so low, even my heightened hearing can barely pick up what she said.

We both know that we can _feel_ it, but sometimes being around magicians all the time knocks off your senses. You're used to the magic.

“Well,” I say, gulping, “I think he’s the person the crucible assigned me to.”

I'm more surprised than anything. Apparently, all of this time, my roommate was dead, or missing, or was just strong enough to fight the pull. But it was the same feeling the Mage explained I would feel in year one, when I didn't feel anything. Was he really in London the whole time, or did he leave before he could be assigned a room?

“You're joking, right?” Penelope asks, her voice dropping an octave. “You're not serious.”

“Penelope, when do I joke about matters such as? This is a bloody nightmare! I thought he was _dead_!” I say, raising my voice. I slap my palm against my forehead, which echoes through the room. “And what am I supposed to do with a roommate? Do I tell the Mage, Penelope? We both know how that would bloody go! Maybe I should educate him, _then_ bring him to Watford. What do _I_ do? I don't have time for this! We go back to Watford in a few days!”

“ _You_ don't want to come back, Baz. I know you.” Penny says.

Like always, Bunce is right. I don't really like Watford. I appreciate the camaraderie between me and the girls, but a decade from now, what we have will be bollocks. It won't matter.

“Are you suggesting I skip eighth year to seek out this glorified Normal?” I spit, standing from the sofa. “You just want to be the top of our class!”

“If you're so bloody worried about this oblivious magician, then why don't _you_ seek him out? See his powers! Tell the Mage, which I doubt you will, and bring him to the grounds if he finds him suitable!” Penelope yelps, surprising me. I can't tell if I've offended her, or if she's been bothered previously.

“I just want to see if the person I was supposed to board with is interesting, Penelope. And maybe get a few tricks out of him. I don’t know what _anyone_ would do with a moron like Simon Snow—”

“Baz.”

I blink a couple of times, pulling the phone from my ear. I turn slightly, finding Aunt Fiona standing in my doorway. I would sneer at her and demand her to knock if I was really in the mood, but she would probably just drag me by the ear to our dining table. That, and I am not in a mood to snark back. Instead, I mumble my goodbyes to Bunce and follow my aunt to our dining room.

As we walk through the looming hallways, Aunt Fiona asks me, “Why do you seem so heated?”

I know I can trust Aunt Fiona more than anyone here, but her relationship with the Mage is just as Ill-willed as anyone else in this home. So, I keep quiet and shrug like nothing's wrong. A lot is wrong, though, and the disorder is driving me mad.

Approaching the table, I notice that all of my siblings are missing. I guess they're with friends, celebrating their last few days of freedom from schoolwork.

Usually, I sit between Mordelia and Fiona, but since one is missing and the other is in the kitchen, aimlessly roaming around. That leaves me, Father, and Daphne. My youngest sibling must already be asleep.

They both heap mash and baked chicken onto their plates. I set mine aside for later and allow them to eat in silence. They make a bit of small talk between each other, not involving me. I don't know why I've joined them if they're going to act like I'm not at the table, but when I try to get up, Father shoots me a glare.

So, I sit here, silent, lost in thought. I have so many bloody questions, so many thoughts buzzing in my head that I can barely concentrate. My mind is on Simon Snow and who he's supposed to be in my life. There's a connection, a magical connection, surely a connection that has to do with Watford and I want answers.

Maybe, just _maybe_ I can get some if I'm careful. I look up at my parents, noticing the food is slowly disappearing from their overly expensive plates. They're in a good mood, Daphne and Father (most people are when they're eating), so it's a good time to indirectly discuss the situation at hand.

“Father, I don't have a roommate.”

I sound like a moron and Father makes sure I feel like one with that stare he's shooting at me.

“You don't. You haven't since first year.” He blinks, taking a sip from his wine.

“I was wondering, Father, _why_ I don't have one. I've always questioned it, but I've never asked.” I don't remember asking, at least.

My father doesn't know how to answer and I can tell by the way his brows nearly meet and his lips press together to make a thin line. He's thinking, _really_ thinking.

“Sometimes the crucible fails, Basilton. And you don't find your match. You're lucky. I wouldn't complain.” He shoots me a pointed look as he sips on his wine.

I nod, then scowl. “What if you find your match outside of Watford?” My words are nonchalant. I don't want him to know that _I_ know something, but he probably does. Parents are always one step ahead of their children, even if they're clever like me.

“Well, I guess they were meant to be a magician, but didn't make the Watford cut. Even the Mage doesn't let _everyone_ in. There'd be far too many students.” His voice sounds strained, annoyed.

I know I should stop asking him about the Mage, but curiosity gets the best of me. It's like I'm being forced to ask questions about the boy that I'm supposed to be boarding with.

“Let's say that someone finds a magician out in the Normal world and there's a lot of potential in them. Will the Mage snatch up the magician, despite lack of knowledge?” I raise a brow, causing my father to groan.

“Enough questions, Basilton! Please, eat in your room. I don't like to be interrogated like this while I'm enjoying my supper!” my father says and I am quick to grab my plate and rush up the stairs.

I sit on the couch and eat, finally. Fangs and all. I'm so hungry for some reason; I never am, unless I'm hungry for blood. But that's a different feeling. My stomach is crying like I haven't given it food in days. I ate before I went to the bloody coffee shoppe for Crowley’s sake! Maybe meeting that magician drained me, but I haven't any idea why it would.

Surprisingly, I finish the meal quickly and bargain myself for seconds, but I decide to, “ ** _Take it away_** ,” and disregard the thought of eating anymore.

While I was eating, I wondered why my father went off. I doubt he's hiding something. You never betray family. I'm almost positive there's a blood oath within the Pitches not to. That's _dark_ magic, but it keeps blood loyal, strong, even though the Pitches are a dying breed. Grimms aren't as strong, but they're just as family oriented.

Even then, what _would_ he be hiding?

Now, I go to my conversation with Penny. She said I should observe him, almost like a spectator at a zoo. But I don't want it to be that way. I want to get up close and personal. Maybe get the know the bloke, see what he's like. Do I tell him he's a magician? Do I say anything at all?

I'm lost. I'm so utterly lost.

So, I grab my violin, make my way to the library, and play. And play. And play.

I play until I get an inkling of an idea, and once I do, I go upstairs, grab the home phone, and call up Penelope. She answers after two rings.

“I got an idea.”

She sighs like she's not surprised.

“Enlighten me.”

I sit back, glancing over at my sleek, polished violin. I mentally thank it for always providing clarity, then focus back on my conversation with Penny.

“I'm going to be gone for the first few weeks of school—I’m sure the Mage won't mind, I don't think he knows I'm alive.”

“You're not.”

“ _That_ is disputable,” I say, holding back a sneer.

“Let me guess,” she mumbles. “You're going to mentor the bloody magician.”

“What!” I'm not sure if I want to laugh or grimace at her assumption. “I'm not involving _any_ magic. At least, not yet.”

“Then what are you going to do? Don't exploit the poor chap.” It sounds like she's defeated, but I'm too wrapped up in my plot to really notice.

“I'm going to… watch him. I need to gain his trust somehow, then I will watch him, his mannerisms. And we can regroup every weekend. I think the idea’s bloody brilliant, Penelope!” I hop up from the couch, feeling a rush of magic course through my body. I'm glad I know how to control it; I was close to spilling some.

“I think it's bollocks and that you should come back to Watford without a complete twit.”

“That's the beauty of it!” I exclaim, keeping my free hand from bursting out with gestures. “We _don't know_ he's a moron! What if he's an expert?” I sit down and whisper, “ _What if he's the next Mage_?”

There _is_ a prophecy.

A groan emits from Penelope’s end of the line. “Don't you want the Mage _dead_?”

“Yes, _but_ —”

“Crowley, Baz… I'll see you Monday. Good night, you nitwit.”

Penelope hangs up on me before I can argue any further.

I decide Penelope's an unreliable friend again. I'm going to have to do this all on my own, from what it appears. And maybe a bit of my parent’s riches. Not that they would notice, almost no one can navigate the home and if I take a single item of pure gold, they could just magick it back. No harm, no foul.

 

By the time my family is asleep, I've already gotten everything packed. I took a gold ring, which I could probably get a few thousand pounds for if I play my cards right. And then I packed my clothes, only a few things though. Jeans, trackies, t-shirts, dress shirts. A mix of everything from my closet.

Thankfully, I don't have to be too quiet. I often times sneak out to grab a bite, or a drink (depending on how you look at it), so it probably won't alarm them if they hear the front door open (or if they hear the door open at all). Sneaking off is juvenile, I can admit. And if my family cared enough, Aunt Fiona would try and find me. I can deal with trying to cast a cloaking spell later. I know there has to be one, but it's too late at night and I need to leave if I want to get to London before the legless bunches of people leave the night bars. Being caught up in _that_ is never appealing.

I go to grab the doorknob, but stop when _everything_ finally catches up. What I am doing—running away from home to seek out a bloke with bronze hair and lovely, freckled skin—isn't me. I'm calculated, clever, careful, _smart_. _This_? It's messy, sloppy, uncertain. I've barely plotted, but I'm just so sure. _But am I truly sure about this_?

Grabbing the doorknob, I twist it open and step out of the house—more like mansion—basking in my decision. It may be somewhat dangerous, but _I_ _am_ dangerous. It's a sloppy decision worth making because at the end of the day, this is important to not only me, but also the World of Mages. Who knows what the bloke has to give?

Now, all I have to do is to find him, to find Simon Snow. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Simon**

I woke up on a park bench this morning. It was just before dusk and the sudden downpour of rain was what pulled me from my slumber. I don't know how I ended up falling asleep on a bench (to be completely honest, I must be completely comfortable before I can even attempt to go to sleep). But as soon as I woke up, I booked it to the flat and changed into another one of my uniforms.

My hair was still sopping wet when I reached the shoppe, but there wasn't much I could do. My bloody electricity was out and attempting to dry my hair with the hand dryer would be completely idiotic. Convenient, but idiotic. So, I let my hair hang in my face, wet. It would be dry by the time the store opened, but it would absorb the smells of the coffees and espressos in the shoppe.

The minute I stepped into the Starbucks, I grabbed the landline and called to pay my bills. I needed electricity to live in the damn flat, and I knew I couldn't go another day without going absolutely bonkers. So, as soon as the worker answered, I was ready to give my number to him.

A hold and moments later, the same worker came on the phone with an ominous, “Your card was declined.”

And in that moment, I swore I stopped breathing.

Now, as I sit at the table in front of the Telly, fisting my locks with a tight grip, I can confirm I've never felt so stressed out. While most people ran around with their best mates on their last day of holiday, I sit in the coffee shop I work at, worrying which of my utilities will shut off next. Let me guess: the petrol. Maybe the water. And what am I supposed to do? If someone told me to write down what I've spent money on in the last month, I can assure you the only thing I'd write down is food. Even then, I buy it in bulk so I don't _have_ to spend so much money.

I guess _that_ backfired.

Dwelling isn't helping any. All it does is make my stomach tangle up in angry, warm knots and jitter like there's no tomorrow. It's like I'm a druggie on withdrawals, but it's all because of bloody money.

As I sit there, allowing the anger to surge through me like a force of nature, I feel something that's a little less than natural. A _zing_ rushes through my arms, my back, and my fingers. Nothing hurts, but it's a foreign feeling as well.

Sitting up, I investigate my hands, then glance up into the reflection of the Telly, making sure I haven't had a stroke. Nope.

Before I can investigate further, something like a convulsion rides through my body, causing me to shiver as it leaves. And then, my jitters turn into something more sporadic, like a seizure.

My mind seems as if it's all there as I begin to shake uncontrollably, but when I notice that I'm practically _sparking_ , I begin to question my altogertheness.

Sometimes it _seems_ like I'm on fire, but this time, it looks like it too. Licks of red, orange, copper, brighten my vision, all until they don't.

Just like that, the seizure or panic attack leaves, causing a sense of relief to stir within me. Remnants of what just happen stick with me, though; a pounding heart and laboured breathing are overpowering me. But the adrenaline becomes too much as my eyelids weight heavy and I lean forward to rest my eyes for just a second.

I wake up again a few hours later, growling under my breath at whoever insists on bloody waking me up. I want to tell the tosser to piss off, but for all I know, it could be my manager. I sit up instead.

The minute I look _their_ way, I stare into pools of grey, stark grey. I recognize them, and I recognize the pull of the person they belong to. He sits across from me like he's an old friend I'm meeting up with for a drink. But I don't know him and he doesn't know me.

To my surprise, he shoves a drink my way. (Pumpkin Mocha Breve is scrawled on the side.) I don't expect this, so I hesitantly nod him in thanks and take a sip of the drink, which is a hot beverage this time.

(It's good.) (I could've made a better cup.)

I take my time to really examine the guy. He looks rough, nothing like he did yesterday. There are twigs in his hair, his clothes tattered by what I can assume to be branches. It looked like he was on an ill-prepared camping trip and was chased out of the wood by a bear. When I catch a glance at his hands, I notice his knuckles are raw. He must've encountered _something_. Or maybe he just tripped. Maybe both.

My eyes fall back on the man not too much younger (or older) than me and I attempt to smile.

“You look bloody miserable,” he says, and I cock my head.

“How would you know if I was miserable?” I take another sip of the drink. Okay, maybe I can't make the drink any better. It's pretty bloody good.

The man across from me shrugs, sipping on his own sugar coffee. “Your hair’s all in your face. You have at least two designer bags under your eyes. You're pale, your words drawl just a little bit more than they did last time I heard you, shall I go on?”

I want to look at myself in the mirror and check to see if he means it, but pride bubbles over and I reply, saying, “I may be exhausted, but at least it doesn't look like I escaped a forest.”

Pulling a leaf from his hair, I present it to him. He doesn't look surprised.

“Touché.” He grabs a napkin from the stack he set on the table and dabs the corners of his mouth; this allows me to notice the bloodstains on the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Are… you okay?” With complete seriousness set on my face, I turn my head towards him and reference to his arms. The blood.

Like the person I took him to be the moment I met him, he rolls his eyes and his sleeves. “Ignore that. I was roughing it up yesterday and didn't have anything to change in.”

(I don't think he notices that I notice a duffel at our feet.)

I nod, holding the brim of the cup to my lips. “...of course you were.”

For a moment, we sit there in awkward silence. I swear I only see him blink once in that period of time.

After a while, he looks as if he'd come to, and he says, “I'm Baz.”

“Simon.” I tip my cup towards him in acknowledgement before standing up. “I kind of have a flat to pay for, so I best be getting on to work.” I nod towards the kitchen.

The expression on Baz’s face is almost unreadable. He looks both pissed and crestfallen, but I need electricity.

I part from him without another word.

 

Baz sits in the shoppe all day like he has all the time in the world.

For most of the day, I noticed that he was tinkering with an iPhone. I've never had one, but it sure looks sleek in his hands. He looked lost as he messed with the buttons and hit the screen multiple times with his slender fingers, but after a while, he seemed to use it with ease.

At one point, he slipped out into the loo and when he walked back out, he looked to be completely clean. Albeit his hair was slicked back with grease, he looked kempt unlike earlier. He does have a bag with him, after all, so the cleanliness confirms he did have something to change in.

Since I began work a bit earlier, I clock out a bit earlier as well. Leaving a little sooner will give me more time to doodle and destress, and after this morning’s events, it's what I need.

By seven o’nine, I'm out of work. My apron’s hung in the back, headpiece aside, and I'm left in nothing but my coffee-stained clothes. I head for the back, but before I can, I turn around to see if Baz is still there.

And he is, watching me, eyes filled to the brim with intent.

Instead of making a scene, I walk up to the bloke and ask, “It seems like you've been waiting on me all day. Why?”

Baz stands up, almost leaving me in awe by how graceful his motions are. He grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder in one fluid motion, not blinking once as he continues to stare.

“I'm new in town and you're the only sod I know,” he answers after a good while, sitting on the edge of the table.

The only way I can tell that he's not lying is by the difference in his accent.

I shove the impulse of shooing him off the table down and huff, crossing my arms over my puffed-up chest. A natural inclination of defiance is flaring in me. “Well, okay. Anything else?”

Uncertainty flashes in the bloke’s eyes, but he's quick to say, “I need a guide.”

“That mobile you have looks pretty handy there, mate. Why don't you use that?” I raise both brows and shrug as if I can't help him before turning back to the kitchen, but before I can leave, he grabs onto my arm and tries to pull me back. An icy prick locks onto my arm and I stifle a gasp.

“Wait—”

“ ** _Let go_**!” I say, and almost as if I shoved him across the shoppe, he falls back, nearly hitting his head on the table a few seats down from where he was sitting.

Luckily, not many people sit in a Starbucks at seven in the evening. There are only two other people lounging in the dining area and both of them are too busy on their computers to notice.

None of my co-workers noticed either, but they never notice bloody anything.

When I turn back around to face Baz, I find him still on the ground… but he's _smiling_. He's wringing his hands together, a smug look on his face. I go to offer him a hand, but he shakes it off and stands on his own.

“I wouldn't consider you all arms, now.” Baz laughs, but I don't find anything funny. Instead of throwing the bag over his shoulder again, he keeps a grip on its handle. “Could I get a ride?”

This _Baz_ is awfully trusting. I eye him like he's mad (and maybe he is).

“Aren't you afraid that I'd proper kill you or something?” I say.

Shrugging, he replies, “Don't you wonder the same of me?”

Baz is _very_ persistent.

“I _guess_ I can give you a ride, but nowhere too far…” I bite my lip, hoping he can't smell the stench of insecurity. “I don’t exactly have any money.”

Although Baz acts like he doesn't care, I can see a bit of sympathy swimming in his eyes. Crossed arms and a stern face try to mask his thoughts, but I was always taught that eyes were the window to the soul. He doesn't care a lot, but he does enough to gruffly say, “I'll pay for a full tank.”  

My lips part to decline his offer, but my voice betrays me by saying, “Thank you.”

Like yesterday, the evening breeze is enough to send a small chill up my spine. I’m usually always so bloody hot, but for once, I'm not.

The both of us climb into my ‘Wagen at the same time, so I zoom off as soon as he's buckled.

It's a rare occurrence that I ever have to make small talk outside of work, but ignoring the stranger in my passenger seat is more than rude and I don't want to be a complete moron, so I ask, “Where are you from?”

Since my eyes are on the road, I don't pay much mind on what he's doing. From my peripheral, I'm pretty sure he's reclined all of the way. (The car is older than me. I hope I can pull the seat back up.)

“Hampshire,” he said, kicking his feet up on the dash. I want to swat them away, but I'm not the greatest driver and wrecking is something I _definitely_ don't need at the moment.

“Why would you come to London from Hampshire?” Why would he want to leave somewhere as picturesque as _Hampshire_?

I can tell he shrugs. “I'm not made for the countryside.”

That I can understand, but when I think of Hampshire, I think of the lush hills and the botanical scenery. If I'd lived out in Hampshire, I would probably be very happy. No routine, no worries.

“City life is expensive, mate,” I tell him in honest, turning onto a random street that leads to a petrol station. “I live in a soddy flat and my power’s out ‘cause I can’t pay the bills.”

_Why am I admitting this to a stranger?_

I pull up to a pump and turn to Baz, raising a brow. His eyes are staring into nowhere and his lips are pursed. He seldomly strokes his pointed chin, like he's pondering the meaning of life.

“How about this?” The bloke shoots forward as he pulls the handle to lean the seat up—thank God. “You got a couch?”

My eyes widen, they're probably as big as saucers because an amused smirk pulls at his lips. _Is he really suggesting that he lives with me_?

 

**Baz**

I'm suggesting that I live with him for now.

 

**Simon**

“W-why?” I'm glad it's almost dark out, I don't want Baz to see that I'm bloody blushing.

The way the wanker shrugs his shoulders makes me wonder if he couch-hops often. “I have money and you don't. You give me shelter, I help with expenses.”

Next thing I know, he's practically in my face, an extended hand to shake shoved into my chest. “Is that a deal, Snow?”

How do I agree without sounding like I'm giving in? Although Baz doesn't seem desperate, maybe sharing an apartment will be less expensive on Baz’s behalf… and mine. I only need to pay half of everything.

“I'll… think about it,” I say before climbing out of the car.

 

**Baz**

Snow’s flat smells like a mixture of campfire and hot chocolate. Also, it's dark, very dark. I would jab at a, “ **let there be light** ,” but that would only frighten Snow. If I want to observe his behaviour, I have to be on my best behaviour. Not that I'm bad—I don't _think_ I am—but I'm not a people person. Friends are far and few between.

Best behaviour consists of no magic—mention or practise. Oh, and whatever ground rules he lists.

“I… uh… just don't smoke in here and try not to piss me off, please. I've been proper testy lately and near had a panic attack earlier… so, yeah.”

(I want to say that I noticed and almost ran.) (I don't.)

Short and sweet.

Not too sure what pisses him off. From earlier encounters, his main stressor is the bloody expensive flat he's living in. But I'm a hassler no matter what state he's in. He’ll have to adjust.

I can see him very clearly in the dark, but his eyes are shifting all over the place like he can't see me—because he can't. If I weren't superhuman in a vampiric way, I'd probably do the same. But I have to admit, the bloke looks like a dunce.

Instead of saying much else, I clap a hand on his shoulder and he jumps, then shivers.

_Am I really that cold?_

“I'm knackered, so I should get some shut-eye. Thank you for lending me half your flat. I should have the lights on by tomorrow.” I plaster a closed-mouth smile on my face, despite his temporary blindness.

“I… should sleep as well. I’m running on a full three hours.” Snow pathetically fails at trying to sound enthusiastic. I want to laugh.

“Night, Snow.”

“Night, Baz.”

I wait an hour, and as soon as I can hear his heart rate lower, I sneak into his room.

There's a chair in the corner of his room, clothes stacked on top. But I don't mind. I simply sit on top and hug my knees to my chest, observing him.

Yes, I know that I told myself that I wouldn't be a _Simon Snow Spectator_ , but I can't help it.

First off, the little incident… both little incidents in the coffee shoppe show that he's a mage, one with a lot of power. And considering he doesn't know control, sparks of magic most likely course through him at night. I can feel the weight of it already, I've been able to since I began to really focus on him, but there are certain times when magic spikes. Sleep, especially in untrained mages, are one of those times.

I feel like that bullshit Twilight git that sparkles and stalks his lady, but I justify what I'm doing for research.

As I wait for some sort of spike, I sit back and let out a silent sigh. It takes a lot to be noticed by Watford unless you're a Family, but what are they going to do with him? I'm sure there's a spell that can catch him up, but that would put him at an unfair advantage, wouldn't it?

Also, am I really so desperate that I would actually talk to our family’s mortal enemy about this sod in front of me? Would I _really_ turn him in to the Mage, allowing this poor, confused bloke to turn into one of his cookie-cutter minions? If my parents found out about Simon Snow, they would proper scoop him up and use him as a pawn, and I don't know how I feel about that either.

Yes, there's bound to be a political war in the future, and I'm not a people person, but I don't think someone has helpless as Snow should be played like a chess piece.

And what if he _is_ the Mage’s heir? What if he _is_ the prophesied Chosen One? He hasn't appeared yet, but the boy takes on a lot of the characteristics of the Oracle reports. Not only that, but the Mage has mandatory checks of all students in Watford to search for “a boy with beautiful, shiny bronze locks and eyes of piercing blue” or something along those lines.

 _Did I find the Mage’s heir?_ And if I did, _what am I to do?_

It's not fair to keep him as a personal trinket, but I don't want him to become a corrupt, strategic figure in the world of Mages. That would make me a villain, I think, and I already am a monster.

_I'm a bloody fucking monster._

Maybe protecting Simon Snow is my first step to redemption.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Simon**

_What in the hell is wrong with me?_

What. In the. Bloody hell. Is. Wrong. With. Me.

No one, and I mean bloody no one would be idiotic enough to allow a stranger to room with them, even if they're down and out. It's an unspoken rule!

(Okay, it's more of a rule you learn from parents when you're little.) (I don't _have_ parents.)

Stranger danger. Common bloody sense. But a little over a week and a half ago, a bloody coffee induced version of myself (yes, I drink on the job), agreed to allow a total stranger to live with me.

It could've been worse, I tell myself, but every bloody day I come home to find the mistake I made.

Baz doesn't go to school, at least I don't think he does. He never comes with me, nor does he have any uniforms packed in that duffel of his. Just jeans, trackies, and miscellaneous shirts. Oh, and the iPhone box his mobile came in.

Every time I've come home since he's moved in, the chap is spread across the couch, scrolling through that mobile of his relentlessly. He will just barely acknowledge me, then go back to his telephone.

I haven’t gotten to know the bloke at all.

So, I decided while I was in maths that I should get to know the man I'm living with. From what I can tell, he's lazy and doesn't eat far too much, and likes to push my buttons, but he's not in the way most of the time. I can appreciate that, at least.

When I step into the flat after school, I find Baz in the same position he's always in when I return: strewn across the couch, crossed legs perched on the arm of the sofa. For once, however, the mobile is set aside and he's focused on a _very_ thick book. I haven't noticed him mess with it until now.

Unlike any conventional way of grabbing someone’s attention, I slam the door closed and let my sack fall from my hands and hit the linoleum ground with a loud _thud_.

Baz looks up, annoyed, and shuts his book. “You could've said hello.”

I shrug, striding towards the couch. When he notices I want to sit down, he swings his legs over and places them on the ground. Like Baz is bloody inviting me to sit next to him on my own couch, the prat, he pats the cushion next to him twice.

So, I sit down in somewhat of a hissy fashion—arms crossed with a small pout on my face.

For a moment, all we do is sit there. He stares at me and I pretend to not notice… until he sneers, “You wanted to talk, so bloody talk.”

Turning towards him, I raise a brow. “Why are you so… hostile?”

Baz shrugs, leaning back to relax himself. He grabs a cup of water I didn't notice he had earlier and sips a small bit from it before saying, “I'm not a giant people person.”

Understandable, but, “Why take that out on people?”

A long, drawn out sigh projects from Baz, his eyes practically rolling into the back of his head as he crosses his arms as well. But he's nonchalant, collected. Baz makes pouting look cool, I regret to admit.

“People get in my way. I get annoyed. I let them know. Sometimes, said people are oblivious.” He smiles, close mouthed, and and cocks his head.

My body speaks before my mind can. I scramble to my feet, saying, “Woah, woah, _woah_.”

Now I know what I want to say; he's a bloody arse.

“ ** _Listen_** , you bloody prat! I've allowed you to live on my couch, eat my food, take hot, long, bloody showers, and do multiple other things! And you dismiss me like I'm some… I don't know! Some, some…”

Baz goes to interject, but he slumps back, dropping his argumentative pointer finger to his side.

“I'm a host, _yes_ …” That's the right word. “But you're taking an advantage! You're practically a leech! A blood sucker! A _bloody_ blood sucker.

 

**Baz**

He hits the nail right on the head. I can't say anything, though. I have to listen. Whether he meant to or not, he used magic to silence me until he's done ranting. It's rare for simple words to magick someone (especially when the person had little control and _no wand_ ). I don't know how he does it, so I just sit back and watch.

 

**Simon**

He stares at me like he wants to say something, but he doesn't interject. So, I continue with my rant.

 

“I don't know you, Baz. I don't know who you are, where you came from, or what your motives are. But you live in _my_ flat and I deserve to know who I'm boarding, so enlighten me. Tell me what kind of bloody prat you are,” I conclude, huffing. I take a seat back next to him and try to keep my eyes from rolling when that smell, that campfire smell, starts to fume up the house.

_Isn't it ironic that I always smell it when I'm in a bloody bad mood?_

Baz scoots back from me slightly, his eyes nervously searching my body. He stares at me like I'm a ticking time bomb, and maybe I am, but I'm also curious about the bloke and deserve to know what he's doing here in London.

 

**Baz**

Aleister Crowley, this bastard is a ticking time bomb. I just hope I'm not in the premises when he explodes. Too much magic and no control is a hell of an issue.

 

**Simon**

Baz sits up, slicking his black locks back with an open hand. A few strands fall in his face, defeating the purpose, but it looks nice. His hair is black as night and appears to be soft to the touch. (I touched it a week and a few days ago, and I can confirm is hair is, indeed, very soft.)

I shake myself from the digressing thoughts and gaze into Baz’s grey eyes. He's forced to look at me, I think. So, I smile and lean against the sofa back.

“Tell me.”

The prat scoots to the edge of the couch, posture almost perfect. Folding his hands in his lap, he looks me up and down with a surveying look.

“Where do I begin, Mr. Snow?” He cocks an arched brow, making me growl. Why haven’t I kicked this sod out yet?

“Give me your full bloody life story, I don’t know.” I want to stand up again just so I have the ability to look down on him instead of the latter. He’s not much taller, less than ten centimetres, but it’s enough to wig me out. I refrain from standing up, though. I’m knackered from school.

Baz huffs like it’s an issue, but he starts, saying, “I was born into a rich family, lived in a rich area all of my life, and decided that I needed a bloody break from all the money. Took an heirloom and pawned it for a few thousand. I’ll be out of London in a few weeks, I think. I’m staying here until I’m not.”

I should just kick him out. I ask him about himself so I can get an idea of who the fuck he is, but what does he do? Push me away. He bloody pushes me away and I’m no longer in the mood to try and socialize with him. It’s a temporary arrangement, all until he’s not here and I have enough bloody money to pay for myself.

“What’s your issue, Snow?” Baz asks, catching me just as I stop thinking about how bloody angry I am.

“You’re a shitty flat-mate.”

Now, I pout. I don’t look at him, but I’m pretty sure he’s amused by how childish I’m acting.

“ _Really_?” Baz finally stands, so I look up at him. From sitting, the bloke looks much taller than he actually is; he’s all leg. “Am I _really_ that bad at being your flat-mate?”

To my surprise, he sounds hurt. There wasn’t any personal connection on my behalf, why would he feel indifferent?

(Okay, there is a “people” connection, but he’s rejecting me.) (I don’t do well with rejection.)

“You never talk to me! You just sit there and ignore me all day! Or you say and do something to piss me off! You glued my bloody scone jar shut yesterday! Don’t you think that’s kind of shitty, Baz?” I stand up as well, hating to feel inferior. He puffs his chest out in response. I do as well. Two can play at this game.

“I’m a bully, Snow, but I’m not a shit flat-mate. Look around.” He pans his hand across the open floor, I follow his hand closely with my eyes. “The only reason you’re not living on the street or in a shelter right now is because of me.”

“How _dare_ you—”

“I’m not quite finished, _mate_ ,” Baz sneers, stepping closer to me. “You never lock your bloody front door. The faucets are always dripping. You never turn the light off when you walk out of the room. Now you know where your money is going.”

The ferocious heat in my stomach is building up like it’s incinerating my insides. I’ve never glared at someone so intensely, but I thoroughly enjoy the feeling I’m giving off.

No one’s ever thought me to be intimidating, and for once, I feel like I am.

 

**Baz**

Snow is smoking. He is _literally_ smoking. White clouds are billowing from and around him, and if I don’t leave soon, I might turn to ash. His magic has accumulated far too much and at this point, I think it would be good to give him space. He needs to breathe before he bloody takes down the building.

However, my ego is sat upon a pedestal. I can’t walk away like I’m scared. Instead, I shove him and stomp towards the front door. I mumble a, “Don’t wait up for me.”

And he replies, “ _Gladly_.”

So, I leave the flat with a slam.

The late summer breeze hits me, causing me to shiver. I’m always so cold, it’s beyond aggro. I didn’t ask to be a bloody vampire, but here I am, shivering when it’s a typical English summer's eve.

Stepping down the stairs from the flat, I let down my guard. When I’m alone, truly alone, I enjoy being myself. I can act like the big bad wolf, I look like every stereotypical villain. I’m pale, tall, my widow’s peak is strong, and my stare is menacing. I know that I look villainous, and I act like I am to keep people away from me. Well, because, what if I am?

I’ve always wanted to be good, be a good son, a good mage, a good something. But then, you add the fact that I’m a vampire into the equation and all possibilities of being a good _anything_ goes out the window. Vampires aren’t and never have been the heroes. They’re the blood sucking villains that get killed by a stake or garlic or holy water. Everyone celebrates when the vampires die, so anyone who ever knows what I am will dance on my grave once I’m annihilated. I might as well add Snow to the list now.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I sit on a step, letting out an angry sigh. Why did _I_ of all people have to stumble upon Simon Snow, and why do I care enough to keep him from being a strategy?

Is this for my benefit? Am I even _truly_ protecting him? All I really do is lock the bloody doors at night.

The stress is too much for me to handle at once, so I grab a pack of fags I tucked under the stairs the other day and pull one out. I don’t smoke all that much, maybe once or twice a week, but I still do. Vampires and fire don’t mix, so it’s probably in my best interest to stop. But I won’t. I have a predetermined death wish.

There’s no need for me to carry around a zazhy, I have an impeccable control of fire.

(Ironic, isn’t it?)

Just to make sure no one’s around, I take in my surroundings. No one is in my field of vision, so I snap my fingers and watch a lick of orange levitate from the tips of my thumb and ring finger.

I wedge the cigarette between my lips and hold the flame to the butt, allowing it to puff to life before I put out the flame.

For a while, I just sit there, sucking on the fag like it’s a bloody pacifier. It is, in a way. It’s calming my nerve. After I reach the butt, I simply flick it to the tarmac and stomp on it with my Doc Marten. I continue to sit.

Before I found Simon Snow, I had a bloody life. I went to a school for magicians and had a couple of people I could share a life with. Now, all I do is try and contact Penelope, study from a book I took from Watford over the summer so I could get a head start, and mindlessly watch Youtube videos. I’m a joke now, for Crowley’s sake. A dropout magic vampire.

I’m a bloody joke.

A walk would be nice, so I shove myself up from the steps and head towards the River Thames. There are walking trails from what I know, and I can stake out the place until it’s dark. Maybe I can find something to feed on.

 

**Simon**

A cup of Nutella hot chocolate sits on the end table, untouched. I finished mine several hours ago, and chugged Baz’s down before I made another one for him. I don’t know what he’s up to, but he truly meant not to wait up for him.

As much as I dislike the bloody sod, I can’t help but be a little nervous. He left at half four and it’s past ten. Nearly a full six hours without Baz. It’s not like he just left. First off, his duffel is still sitting by the sofa and that book, whatever it is—it’s in another language so I can’t check—is on my coffee table, glaring at me.

At first, I told myself that he went off to a party, and maybe he did. From what I understand, he just hit legal age not too long ago. But then I remembered, he’s not a people person. Why would he go to a club if he hated people?

Next, my mind went to the Thames. Walks are a solace for me, and maybe it’s the same for Baz. After all, he was covered in leaves the second time I saw him. So, once I was done with my homework for the night, I made my way out towards the river.

I searched a bit and didn't find him. I retired so I could take a shower.

Now, as I sit on the couch waiting for him to come home, I stare at the cup that was meant to be some sort of peace offering. He was right; he's a good flat-mate. So far, he's paid for what's his and doesn't bother me unless he’s in the mood for jesting.

In moments of stress, every logical reason seems to flee from my brain and defence takes over. Baz just so happened to be a victim, but he wasn't any more innocent.

I decide, after a few more minutes of sitting on the sofa, that I should tuck in for the night. I'll leave the door unlocked for Baz, even if it's idiotic, but he needs a place to sleep.

Just as I push myself from the couch, however, I feel a flicker in my gut, then that same magnetic pull that I had the first time I saw Baz in the shoppe. I don't know what the feeling means, or why I'm feeling it, but it's alarming and worrying.

The feeling leads me to the door, then down the stairs and towards the Thames again. Is it natural instinct? I'm sure it has to do with Baz, but as I follow my senses into the dark, wooded area, I begin to become even more anxious.

For a while, I walk, falling once and nearly tripping another few times. I'm aimless in the dark, I can't see anything. Even with the time to acclimate to the darkness, it's hard to see anything more than three feet away from me.

I follow the magnetic feeling until it suddenly leaves me. From what I can tell, I'm standing in a clearing, one filled with wildflowers. The moonlight beams into the blank space in the middle of the wood, allowing me the advantage to see again, kind of.

The flowers and wild grasses are high; they reach the tops of my knees, so if I _was_ pulled towards this destination to look for Baz, it's going to be a hell of a search.

“Come on, Simon… You're out here for a reason,” I say under my breath, allowing my eyes to take in the clearing once more. I go to take a step, but I trip over something… or _someone_.

Instead of scrambling to my feet, I simply roll on my side and curse under my breath when I notice who I tripped over.

“Baz…”

I sit up, dusting off the wet patch of grass stain on my side before looking over my flat-mate. He's still breathing, I can tell, but there's a bit of dried blood on his chin and lacerations all over his arms. His shirt is torn open, also, and the cotton tee he was wearing is covered in dried blood as well.

“Bloody fucking hell,” I whisper to myself, standing on my knees. The need to cry and throw up approaches at the same time, but I know I have to get him back home. And if he doesn't wake soon, I need to get him to an emergency room.

Surprisingly, Baz isn't too heavy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline working on my side before I completely exhaust. Either way, I make my way back to the apartment with a surprising amount of ease and as soon as I reach the flat, I pull the door closed behind me with my foot—nearly dropping Baz in the process.

I just barely slip the tall, broodish bloke on the sofa before collapsing myself, trying to take a deep breath but my lungs are burning. Nausea, again, begins to accumulate, my mouth watering, all until I hear Baz let out a groan.

A few minutes after he groans, his eyes begin to flutter and at this time, I'm looking over him, making sure he's bloody actually alive. He was dead tired in my arms.

After what seems like hours, his grey eyes finally flutter open and he gasps for air, as if he hadn't had a breath in the past few minutes.

At first, he looks panicked. His eyes are darting every which way and his hand finds its way to a sofa cushion to grip on something. Then, he settles, letting out a sigh of what is certainly relief.

“How did I get back here?” He asks, trying to sit up. I keep him from doing so by pressing a hand to his chest. He practically crumples under my palm.

“I had to carry you… fucking bloody hell, Baz… why were you in the middle of a blasted clearing?” I try not to sound worried, but I fail miserably.

Blinking a couple of times, Baz looks over at me, eyes widening. He shoots up, despite my hand on his chest and tries to scramble out the door, but I yell, “ ** _Stop_**!”

He does...mid-step. And stays that way.

“Please let me go, Snow. I have to check and see if they're okay… I didn't mean to hurt anyone, I really didn't! But I think I did and—”

“ _What_?” Now I don't know who to worry about. The people he’s talking about or him.

Is the blood his or the people’s?

“These fucking chavs jumped me… and… and…” Baz can't finish his sentence, he's filled with… grief?

(I'm unsure, I've never seen him be anything other than an arse.)

“Use your words, Baz,” I say softly, walking towards him. (That’s what the social workers used to say to me.) I place a hand on his shoulder and he moves from the pose he was previously in.

_Queer_.

“I saw a lot of blood, Snow, and then I blacked out and now I'm here and what if I t—” Baz cuts himself off, slapping a hand over his mouth. I want to know what he wants to say, but I don't ask. A frazzled Baz is something I don't enjoy.

First off, it's pathetic. Secondly, it's pretty sad.

I lead Baz back to the couch and he sits down, then lays down when I nudge his legs with my feet. “Up. Lay down.”

Taking a seat on the coffee table and leaning forward to better examine him, I grab his arm and run a thumb over one of the cuts. “Jesus Christ, they really got you…”

Baz says nothing.

“I… Is there anything you need, Baz? I mean, I did make you some hot chocolate, but it's old and—”

“Just let me sleep, please,” he whispers, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You have to go to school tomorrow anyway.”

Why does he care?

(At least someone does.)

So, I follow his request and stand up. Before I leave, however, I grip onto his shoulder and mutter, “ ** _Get well soon_** , okay?”

Then, I depart to my room for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Simon**

I can't sleep. I've been staring at the ceiling for the past few hours and I just can't sleep.

Baz hasn't been himself lately. Ever since the incident in the clearing those few weeks back, he has become more and more withdrawn with each day that passes.

The first week, he was okay. I don't know how or why, but those cuts and scrapes on his body disappeared overnight. Not a single bruise peeked out from his shirts and he looked rather put together; he seemed completely fine.

As the week progressed, he stopped messing with me as much as he did when he first started living with me. Every once in awhile, a blunt or crass remark would burst from him and I would act offended, just to go along and act like I wasn't actually deeply worried about him.

The remarks disappeared as the next week carried on. Sometimes, I would catch him glaring at me (at least I think he was glaring). When I would sit on the couch to do homework, he would turn to talk to me but would give up when we made eye contact. He stopped looking at me yesterday.

Now, all he does is sit on the couch and sulk.

A part of me wants to tell the prat to suck it up and get over it. Another part makes me want to tell him that everything is okay and that he probably has enough money to start talking to a therapist.

Despite it all, I keep quiet and allow him to ride out the gammy. If he wanted me or any help at all, he would reach out, right?

_Right?_

I let out a groan, sitting up on my bed. I glance over at my clock and let out a, “Bollocks,” when I see the time.

It's only three in the morning.

Usually, the heat of my bedroom keeps me from sleeping. I turn the A/C all the way up, keep the ceiling fan on high, and yet I still overheat.

Climbing out of bed, I walk to the windows and shove each of them open. The draft picks up slightly, so I mosey back to the bed and try to sleep again.

But I can't. I just can't.

Maybe I should eat something. Usually, I can fall asleep on a full stomach. I always almost do in literature (the class right after lunch). So, I get up again and walk out of my bedroom.

The air swirling through the flat makes a knot twist in my stomach. It feels awfully drafty, and Baz isn't on the couch...

And the blasted flat door is open.

“Shit,” I whisper, sneaking towards the door. I look out as soon as I can, and when I can't see Baz anywhere, panic ensues.

Last time he left, he was jumped. Last time he left, I had to find and carry him back to the flat. Last time he left, he was passed out and covered in blood. _Blood_.

Baz will come back, right? I… can just leave the door open and he’ll walk in unscathed, yes?

I'm an idiot, I leave the front door open and turn the lights on so I can see. Then, I walk to the kitchen and begin to pull things from my fridge.

That poignant smell of fire and sulphur pricks my senses and I let out a groan. The smell makes me want to throw up, especially when it smells like bloody rotten eggs. _I need to get my flat inspected_ , I think to myself before I continue pulling out enough for both me and Baz. (I don't know why I get any for him, he barely eats.)

Scones and hot chocolate are all I really have. The other day, I grabbed a couple of Big Macs from the McDonald's down the street but that was a treat. I got a high grade on my science test, and when I do well on things such as, I reward myself with something cheap but tasty.

Butter is another thing I keep in stock along with Nutella, milk, and scones. I can never have enough of it, and I make sure I get the good, _real_ kind. I eat it, sometimes (I stopped eating as much since Baz moved in). And now that Baz isn't here, there's no one to stop me. I grab butter as well.

Along the way somewhere, I decide to have tea over hot chocolate. Sometimes—but not very often—hot chocolate will make me upchuck if I have it too late at night.

It doesn't take too long to place everything, and once the table is proper set, I step back and admire my work, or really the work of the people who made the food I have proudly sitting out.

There's enough for a king, I think, and I know full well that I will eat most of it. My stomach seems to be an insatiable void.

A few minutes after I take a seat and dollop a giant heap of butter on my warmed scone, I hear the front door close. I jump slightly before turning around, finding Baz standing there, a hand over his mouth.

Not talking to him would be weird, but we don't talk, or rarely do. And even when we do, it's quick. It’s saying, “Hi,” when returning from school. It's saying, “Goodnight,” when I retire to my bedroom. It's little things that _I_ say and he never replies to, but that's okay. He seems like he's hurting and I get on with him enough to not be an arse and disregard his mental lapses.

After all, I have them too.

So, I wave at him and nod towards the table. “I made food.”

Instead of answering, he grunts and walks into the bathroom. I go to say something to him, I don't know what, but he slams the door closed and I slump in my chair.

Looking back at the table, I notice just how much food I made. A good amount for me and some for Baz. I hate to throw _any_ food away, and I won't, but it won't be the same re-warming it, _again_.

Whatever. I scoff down my scone and butter up another one.

Baz comes out a few minutes later, and I expect him to take a seat on the couch. Instead, he walks over, sits on the edge of the table, and grabs a scone.

“Why are you up so… early?” He takes a bite, making it a point to cover his mouth as he chews.

“Can't sleep… did… you just talk to me?” It's been awhile since I've heard his voice, and I'm surprised to say that I missed hearing him talk.

Shrugging, Baz moves his hand from his mouth since he finishes chewing and slides down into the other chair. He takes a cup I set out and the kettle of hot water sitting in the middle of the table. Then, the bloke grabs a tea bag, sticks it in the cup, and pours the water until it nearly reaches the brim.

I guess he doesn't take milk or sugar.

“I did,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “Does that surprise you?”

Truly, it does. Baz only talks to me when it's convenient for him, and, well, it's almost never convenient.

“I just… do you need something?” I lean my cheek against the palm of my hand and stuff the scone in my mouth.

Baz grimaces at my table manners and shakes his head. “I was just grabbing a bite.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I want to hold eye contact with him, but I decide not to. That would be awkward, staring at him. So, I sip on my tea and impatiently tap my heel against the ground.

 

**Baz**

I didn't mean to leave the door open. Typically, I’m very good at sneaking about. Hell, I even remember closing the blasted thing, but I guess I just didn’t latch it. The autumn wind must've blown it open, and because of that, it roused Snow.

However, there’s a flaw in my theory. Over the past month I've lived with the sod, I discovered that he could sleep through a bloody hurricane. One time, I accidentally played music on my phone at full blast at around one in the morning. (I was in his room.) (Yes, I know it sounds undeniably skeevy.) Long story short, I was in the room with him and he didn’t even flinch.

Since he is up, I know it’s because he’s been awake all night.

Using the, “I know you’re a deep sleeper,” angle to ask him why he was awake would seem predatorial, which I _do_ enjoy. However, I don’t want to be a freak. So, I ask again.

“Why are you up so early?”

Snow looks like a deer in headlights when I ask the question. His eyes are widened and his mouth is stuffed with food.

That is another thing I learned about Snow over the weeks. The chap loves to eat. I also almost caught him eating butter once and I just about gagged.

It was only a few days ago when it happened, a Saturday, so he was up late. I just got back from a feeding and found him shoving a spoon of the creamy substance in his mouth. I know he didn’t see me, but now that I do know about this, I’ll make sure to either throw out or hide the butter. (In the freezer, I never see him open it.)

“Honestly?” Snow says after a long while. I make eye contact with him, finding that he looks so much more knackered than he did only a minute ago. This bloke is riding on the edge of exhaustion but he seems fully awake. “I was curious about why you stopped talking, like, completely.”

 

**Simon**

I don’t want to tell him I was worried. I don’t want to tell him that I was afraid that he was on edge at every minute and that he might run off like he did again. I don’t want to tell him that I actually really appreciate what he does.

 

**Baz**

From the moment I saw Simon Snow, I knew he was a handsome bastard, but I never thought that the way he was staring at me with genuine concern would make something in my cold, dead heart regenerate. But here he is, drilling those brilliant blue eyes into my dead, grey ones.

I want to tell him how pretty his eyes are.

 

**Simon**

I don’t want to tell him that he actually is a pretty good flat-mate and that his presence is enough to make me feel a little less alone.

**Baz**

I want to tell him that his freckles are cute.

**Simon**

I don’t want to tell him that if he is hurting, I am right here to help him through it.  

**Baz**

I think I want to kiss Simon Snow, just to see if his lips are as soft as they look.

**Simon**

I won’t.

**Baz**

I don’t.

**Simon**

Baz tears his eyes from me, then I do the same. All that thinking makes me exhausted, so I get up and begin to take the food off of the table. But before I can remove anything, Baz grabs my wrist and says, “Leave it out.”

 

“I can put it away, I’m not incapable.” The zing that usually goes with his snark isn’t there. I can barely tell what tone he’s using, but it’s calming, maybe. “I’m going to eat a little more.”

 

So, I just nod and rub my eyes. I think I can finally sleep knowing that Baz is safe at home. I can go to bed knowing that he isn’t out there, getting jumped and bloodied, again.

 

Just as I’m about to enter my bedroom, I hear Baz say, “Wait!” And when I turn around, I find him standing there with an iPhone box in hand. It’s not his…

 

“You didn’t…” I don’t want to be crying, but I feel close to it. No one’s gotten me a gift since I was eleven. Foster parents don’t have to get gifts for Christmases or birthdays, and I didn’t as soon as I was a pre-teen.

Baz walks a little closer and places the box in my hands. I open it graciously as he says, “I registered it and everything. The only number in it at the moment is mine, so you can call me if you ever need anything.”

I run my hand over the sleek, black mobile and let out a shaky breath.

A mobile, all my own.

I want to hug Baz, but before I can reach for him, he sits back at the table, grabbing a scone.

“Goodnight,” I call before entering my room and shutting the door behind me.

 

**Baz**

I am smiling, grinning like an idiot as I keep my back turned to Simon. I can barely mutter a good night because I know he’ll be able to hear the smile in my voice, so I don’t, really. I simply acknowledge him with a grunt and bite into a scone.

The sudden sense of giddiness that’s overtaking me is very rare, and it usually occurs when I get a new bow for my violin or something along the lines of that. I never feel my heart convulse when I think of someone like Simon Snow. But what I feel, it seems real. Or maybe I feel this way because I find someone other than Penelope to care about and he just so happens to be a cute guy.

Why are feelings so bloody confusing?

And why does he care about me?

All while I was brooding deeply—and I still am, don’t get me wrong—I could feel his eyes on me. Sometimes I’d notice him hovering or sporting a worried look. He’d try to keep some sort of connection, to probably keep himself sane, but I would ignore him like a prat.

Maybe I should stop doing that since we have a general mutual feeling of each other (maybe my projection of him is a bit romantic, but I don’t have the gall to admit that).

But in that time, my reason was justifiable. I was scared at wit's end that I’d finally gone off the deep end and drank from humans or very irresponsibly Turned them. Normal vampires can be complete dunces, but I just generally dislike Normals in general, so of course my opinion is skewed.

Since that night near a month ago, though, I haven’t spotted any suspicious activity, so it was me, I’m sure of it. That blood was all mine.

So, the existential panic is now gone. I’m not on edge, nor am I any more or less convinced that I’m a monster. That’s good.

In my good mood, I decided to get Snow a phone. In all of that watching I’ve been doing since I got here, I’ve noticed his spikes of magic have grown. Homework frustrates him. I frustrate him. He gets frustrated when he becomes an incinerator (which is all the time, he just feels hotter at night). Each and every time, he doesn’t fail at smoking or sparking and I think he’s noticed but thinks it to be bollocks and that he’s imagining (I’m still on the no-magic route, so I can’t tell him that it _is_ him). It’s only a matter of time that Snow blows, and I think if he has someone to talk to (look at that, I’m actually accepting contact with other beings), it will keep him from exploding. And if Simon Snow doesn’t explode, he won’t be noticed by the Mage.

Snow doesn’t need to be noticed by the Mage and that might be looked at as selfish, but I just want to protect Simon at the end of the day.

Simon, oh, Simon.

After a couple more minutes of thinking, I get up and put everything away. I’m getting tired and should head to bed. I know I’m only going to be up in a few hours, but if I want some sort of sleeping schedule when I get back to Watford (and who knows if I _will_ go back?) it’s best I actually do sleep. So, I lay down once everything is up and the lights are out.

 

I don’t remember when I fell asleep, but I know I wake up to the smell of scones and hot chocolate (note to self: get Snow food other than bloody scones, for Crowley’s sake). I sit up and find the bloke at the table, messing with his phone. I’m glad he likes it.

Snow seems to notice I’m up—he must’ve caught me in his peripheral—and gets down to business by saying, “You never told me why you were so quiet for the last few weeks.”

I shrug like it’s nothing. “I… feel like I’m a dangerous person sometimes. It’s how I am. And I thought I hurt the sods that attacked me, but I didn’t.”

A confused look contorts Snow’s features. “They hurt you, why wouldn’t you want to hurt them back?”

It’s not that simple and I wish I could tell him that, but I can’t. I just sigh and give a bollocks answer. “I’m a pacifist.”

To my surprise, Simon laughs, and it’s an ugly laugh, but I can’t help but smile along with him until he says, “That’s utter bollocks! You verbally execute me near every day!”

“I’d like to think it’s all in good fun,” I admit, even though I know that sometimes I just couldn’t care less.

“ _Sure_ ,” Simon chortles before drinking the rest of his hot chocolate and standing up. He grabs his backpack and slings it over his shoulder, moving quickly to the sink so he could rinse his cup. Then, he heads to the door and stops to say goodbye to me, I think.

Instead, he asks, “Why don’t you go to school?”

We’ve never really, truly talked about myself and that was on my behalf because I didn’t want to get attached, but if you’re spying on someone’s magical capabilities, it’s almost impossible not to care.

I answer for once.

“I’m already enrolled somewhere else and have been skipping since day one. That book that I read is a textbook, so I’m caught up for the most part.” I try to actually smile at him for once, but I feel like my mouth looks more like a straight line since I don’t want my fangs to poke out.

Simon nods, absorbing the information. “What language is it in?”

Feedback, cool.

“Romanian.”

Again, he nods. “Okay.”

And again, he turns to leave and says, “Goodbye.”

I reply, “Goodbye.”

 

 

For a while, I sit on the couch, reading the stolen book, going over ancient and household spells. I clean the house that way and make myself a lunch with, “ ** _Some like it hot_**.”

The day passes as it usually does until quarter one, and that is when I know Simon Snow finally blows.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Baz**

No one knew exactly how the Mage’s heir would present himself to the world, but what they _did_ know was it had to do with fire. The Mage’s heir would appear in flames, and the minute Snow blew, I finally knew what I was dealing with.

The Mage’s heir is in the palm of my hands, and now I need to choose wisely.

I knew Simon finally went off when it felt like my lungs were being pulled out of my body. I could just barely breathe and I just about choked on my vomit, but the aftermath… now… I feel like death. My body aches as I lay on the floor. I don’t know how long it’s been since Snow blew up, but I know he needs me… and that I feel physically incapable of getting him.

Knowing that Snow is out there, terrified and in flames makes my heart ache for him. I know he’s terrified, especially since he didn’t expect it. Looking back now, maybe it would’ve been a good idea to tell him, to help him prepare himself for the first impact magic will make on him. But I can’t turn time, so I finally push myself up and let out a hefty cough. It seems like getting to wherever the bloody hell Snow is will be a burden, but I _have_ to get him and I _have_ to stow him away. He’s not safe right now, and the Mage’s senses are probably extremely heightened.

I _cannot_ let the Mage seek him out. Not yet.

An adrenaline rush finally takes over me as I stand. Now, everything is clear. Car horns are blaring just outside, the sound of EMT trucks fill the city of London. Whatever Snow just _did_ could be equivalent to a blasted h-bomb, probably because his powers have accumulated for so long.

Walking outside, I can already see where he is: school, only about a quarter of a kilometre away. I can get there fast, I know, and the sooner I’m there the better. Snow needs me. Simon Snow needs me.

As I run towards the school, all I can think about Snow and his smile, and his blue, blue eyes, and those three little moles on his cheek that brings character to his face. I think about how he naturally smiles, and that when he’s not close to going off, he’s in a good mood. I think about how traumatizing it must be for him, and how I’m afraid he’s going to shut down.

I want to tell Simon it’s okay, but then I’d just be lying. What he did isn’t okay. Not only did he blow up a school, but he also tore a hole in the magickal atmosphere. I can tell by the way I feel sick with nothingness.

My magic isn’t here right now.

A few minutes of running for my life later, I get as close as I can to the site without catching on fire (which is still several metres away). I can’t see Snow anywhere and it feels like I’m on the verge of tears. _What if the fire took him_?

Using magic would be stupid of me, but I don’t think I have a choice. The only chance Snow has at safety is if I take him and hide him. But as I go to actually use my magic, I remember that I can’t, so I curse under my breath. The situation looks hopeless, and finally, I allow myself to cry. Just this once.

The last time I cried was when I found out my mum was dead. I was only five then, so little, too little to know what to do without my mother. My father wasn’t visibly upset, but my aunt Fiona… My mum hung the moon for us, she was our rock. I can still remember the vow she made to me, my aunt.

“I’m going to protect you, Basilton, I will do what your mother would want me to do.”

I used to think that it was a sweet promise, a promise of love and family, but as I learned more about myself and my mother, I realized that my aunt Fiona was making her own promise, her own projection of a motherly figure. If she _did_ do what my mother wanted, I would be as dead as she is.

My tears cease when I see someone shuffle around, hugging themself. They’re trembling immensely and crying. They’re crying rather loudly.

The person collapses to their knees and hunches over, retching their guts out (I almost do as well). Then, they lay down and curl into a ball, shaking like a leaf.

One reason I can’t tell if it’s Simon or not is that everything about them is singed. Their already short hair is burnt, the clothes on their body gone. And their face, I didn’t get the opportunity to see their face. I’m not an invasive person, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I walk over, crouch next to the person, and place a hand on their shoulder.

When _he_ looks up, I know.

Terror is in his eyes and he looks like he just wants to be held, so I let down my guard, sit down, and pull him into my arms.

I want to talk to him, tell him that he’s okay and that there’s nothing wrong with him. But there is, he’s a defective magician. His powers are too strong for him to control, therefore allowing him to blow up like that. I don’t want to tear him down though, he doesn’t need that right now.

So, I run my fingers through his brazen hair and allow him to shake in my arms.

From time to time, I go, “Shh, Snow… You’re safe with me,” or, “I’m here, you’ve got me.”

After a while of sitting there, Snow hasn’t stopped shaking, but the fire is finally out. He hasn’t said anything, or even attempted to talk for that matter. Snow is shell-shocked and probably horrified, but now that the fire is out, I can look for his car. The only way Simon can be safe at the moment is if I hide him, and I know that hiding him at my home in Hampshire is stupid, but what choice do I have?

Hopefully, **these aren’t the droids you’re looking for** , will work on my family, though I’ve never tried hiding a whole being. Again, _what choice do I have_?

“Snow,” I say quietly, pushing some hair out of his eyes. He’s asleep now, I notice, but still shaken. He probably will be for a while, I think. But no time for worrying. I have to find his car (if it’s still there) and grab our things. Then we can flee. Then I can find a safe place for Simon.

If I had my magic, I would try to spell him invisible now (partially for practice, partially so no one finds him like this). But there’s still a void that I can feel in the pit of my stomach. So, I lean him against a tree that made the blast and run off, heading towards what looks like a parking lot.

It just so happens to be my luck when I stumble upon his Volkswagen. It looks damaged, but not totalled. The windows blew out and the seats look like they melted a bit, but it looks decent otherwise. And like an idiot, Snow left the keys in the ignition. But it makes it easier for me.

Thank Merlin he’s full on petrol, he must’ve filled it up before school. I open the door (Crowley, he’s a complete git for not locking the doors either), dust the glass off the seats, and climb in. Then I drive up towards Simon to grab him as soon as I can. I must be breaking several laws at the moment, but no one seems to notice as I pull up by Simon and get out to take him.

Just as I go to pick him up, his eyes flicker open. And my heart breaks. He looks like he’s seen hell, which he probably has.

“Snow, you’re okay. We’re going somewhere safe. We just need to go home, grab some things, get you dressed, and leave, okay? When I first moved in, I promised that I would protect you and I’m not going to allow the bloody Mage your magic. Come on.” I loop my arm around his waist and assist him to the passenger side. Snow doesn’t fight or question what I say at all. He climbs into the car with a look of defeat on his face.

When we reach the flat, I park right outside and turn to him. He’s holding onto the belt for dear life, like a child holding onto their mother’s leg on the first day of nursery school. And again, he’s trembling. There’s no magic, for some reason. I feel like London’s been blasted off the magickal map, so I can’t feel the magic radiate from his body like it usually does. Right now, he just seems like a scared child.

“Do you want to come upstairs with me? I just need to grab my duffel and a few things for you. I can grab some scones for the drive. Want me to?” For once in forever, I reach out and hold Simon’s hand, and let me tell you, something just feels right when I do. I don’t remember the last time I’ve held someone’s hand.

This instantly grabs Simon’s attention. He looks at me with dull, blue eyes and a frown on his face. He’s almost scowling. There’s no attempt in talking, he just shakes his head and stares into oblivion.

I respect his decision. I only coerce people when need be and this is not one of these times. He needs space and I understand. I need it too, sometimes.

The first thing I grab upon entering the apartment is a change of clothes for Snow. He must’ve been on fire at some point because he is near full nude. His underwear was spared, thankfully, but I grab a pair anyway. He probably pissed himself when he blew up, I know I would’ve.

Then, I grab a duffel and start to stuff multiple things in his bag: tattered tees, holey jeans, and nicked up joggers. He does have a pair of trackies, then his uniform. I grab that as well, for when he has to go to Watford. I realize that I near packed his whole wardrobe, then add the trackies. That is the only article of clothing left in the drawer.

I don’t bother with toiletries; we have shampoo, for Crowley’s sake.

Thankfully, his phone is sitting out; it wasn’t on him. I snatch it and stuff it in the same pocket I have mine in.

It takes a good thirty seconds to pack my own things. I just throw my book and clothes into my duffel and swing that over my shoulder as well.

_And_ we’re set. I don’t bother closing the door behind me as I practically jump from stairwell to stairwell.

“Up, Snow… I need to dress you,” I say when I open the passenger door. He’s curled up in fetal position again and I’m surprised not to see that he’s not sucking his thumb. (I wouldn’t judge him if he did, he’s traumatized.)

Simon obeys my command slowly, and once he’s sitting up, I pull the shirt over his torso and assist him in pulling his arms through the sleeves. His arms are heavy as I help him. Once the shirt is proper on him, I have him stand up and tug on his trackies. He looks like hell, but comfortable in what he’s wearing.

“I’ll clean you up a bit once we’re out of this hole of nothing. I’m completely drained of magic right now, but it’s probably only here, I think.” _I hope_.

I take off down the road after I shove our stuff in the back and climb into the driver’s seat.

At one point while I was packing his things, I swear I got a text or call, but I decide to set the need to check it aside. The sooner I—we—get out of London, the better.

 

The traffic is horrendous. Everyone is evacuating, I think, and because of that, the roads are clogged. I can almost feel the magic, we’re on the edge of the new magickal map, and as soon as I tap into the flow of magic, I plan on pulling over and cleaning and healing Simon, albeit he’ll probably want to really wash off when we get to Hampshire. Then, I’m going to use several spells to take us all the way to the mansion safely.

Simon still hasn’t said anything, he’s gone completely quiet. I think he’s broken and probably lost in his head, which I don’t blame him for. I wonder if he thinks it’s his fault, I wonder if he’s worried that he’s killed people. I wonder if he even knows if it was him or if he thinks some kid brought a bomb to school. I wonder _why_ he finally blew.

Those questions can be saved for later, I know. If I was in his shoes (great Morgana, I’m empathizing), I know I wouldn’t want to play a game of twenty questions.

I put on music to fill the silence. Then, I pull out my phone. It’s stand-still, the traffic.

Notification after notification fills my screen, and they’re all from Penelope. I know she sneaks in a phone to school, mainly to talk to Micah, but the first few texts read:

**My mum’s bringing me home.**

**Aleister Crowley!**

**Baz!!!!!!!**

Instead of texting back, I call.

“Baz! Oh my Merlin, Basilton Pitch.” Penelope sounds incredibly relieved, which knocks a few kilos of weight off my shoulders.

“Are you okay, is everyone okay?” I ask, glancing at Simon. He’s quivering, hugging himself.

“Everyone is… Morgana, the whole world, _all_ of Watford is terrified. The Mage is practically licking his chops and the Coven’s having an emergency meeting.” Penny pauses for a moment. “ _What_ was that?”

To tell or not to tell? I don’t think Simon has even fully come to terms with what happened, how will Penny be able to wrap her head around this?

“I don’t even know, Penelope. All I know is that my boy went to school and blew it to smithereens.” I didn’t mean to say—

“You’re dating the git that did this?!” Penelope near yells, surprising me.

“No, _no_. I am _not_ dating him, I just kind of shared a flat with him and… that’s not what I mean and we have more important things to discuss!”

She doesn’t have the heart to laugh or even joke anymore. “So, he just…”

“ _Went off_ , yeah…” I look over at Simon again. He’s crying, so I take his hand. He desperately entwines our fingers together and cries harder. “He’s in a lot of pain.”

“What kind of pain? Sorry to sound so… masochistic, but… Like, do I need to come over and assist? Are you still in London?” Care drips from her lips. I can hear the magic in her tone.

“I think it’s all in his head, he won’t talk.” I give his hand a squeeze.

“He must be scared to death,” Penelope whispers, and I nod. He is.

“And no, we’re fleeing. I don’t want the Mage to get him. We both know what happens if he’s influenced by _him_.”

“And your parents won’t do the same?” she questions.

“I’m hiding him,” I reply without shame. “And I’m going to try and teach him.”

“You’re just as bad as your parents when it comes to the Mage.”

I hate to admit it, but Penelope is right. But I am _not_ my parents, not completely.

“ _I’m_ not going to use him as a strategy or hold him hostage. I have the reputation of a villain but I’m not so evil as to throw Snow on the bloody war grounds,” I sneer for once in a long time. “Do you really think that lowly of me?”

“Of course not, Baz! I just—”

“Just. What?” I take deep breaths to keep myself calm. I’m already under loads of stress, but I can’t just hang up on her.

“I’m afraid you’ll do it unintentionally.”

I hang up.

 

I finally get my magic back once we hit the outskirts of town. I rolled down a dirt road as soon as I can and now we’re… here, wherever “here” is.

Snow is asleep in the passenger seat and I don’t want to disturb him. He’s a pretty sleeper, but the soot and ash covering him makes him look like he was pulled out of a war zone, which is the other way around. He’s being thrust into one, a magickal one, _because_ he _went off_.

Pulling my duffel from the back, I unzip it and say, “ ** _It’s showtime_**!” And my wand appears, wrapped in some of my trackies. I pluck it from the bag and carelessly toss the duffel in the backseat. Then I turn to Snow and sigh.

He’s going to need tonnes of healing spells.

At first, I think that I can help Snow in the cab, that there’s enough space. But I decide against it. He shouldn’t be cramped when he doesn’t have to be. I get out and walk over to his side. And once he’s lying and his head is proper in my lap, I take the wand and aim it at him. “ ** _Clean as a whistle_**.”

The soot and dirt disappear.

Snow looks so much more at peace. He’s exhausted himself, so as I run my fingers through his long, golden curls, he doesn’t wake up. Now, I can tell that he looks untouched. He’s not hurt, other than what’s going on inside his mind.

Next, I chant things like, “ ** _Get well soon_** ,” and, “ ** _Early to bed and early to rise_**.” Hopefully it will clear his conscious just a bit. But with an impact so severe, I don't know if it will help any. So, after a little bit, I give in and run my hands through his hair.

“I’m sorry, Snow. I'm really sorry. I know this is scary, this world of magic, this sudden change in your life…” I sigh, turning back towards London. From far away, it looks like nothing happened, but really, Simon Snow happened.

“I'm also sorry about what's going to happen next,” I continue, not looking at him. “I'm going to do my best to keep you from the Mage. He’s been obsessed with you for as long as I went to Watford. I think… you're the Mage’s heir. The Chosen One.” I let out a laugh and shake my head. The bloke doesn't even know what he's about to get into. “The worst Chosen One who’s ever been chosen…”

Just as I look down at Snow, his eyes open.

They're just as dull as they were earlier, defeat swimming in them. And the corners of his mouth—which are naturally turned upward—pout. But he doesn't do much other than take my hand, turn on his side, and bury his face into my stomach.

“Did you hear what I said?” I ask, beginning to regret the last part, the, “worst Chosen One who’s ever been chosen,” part.

Simon just shakes his head and nuzzles his nose further into my stomach.

Sitting there, running my hands through Simon Snow’s hair, I decide that I would like to stay this way. With him depending on me, and me making sure he's safe. I feel like I actually have a soul when I do this, when I tangle my fingers in his hair and hold his hand. I feel more… human and less monster. I feel _alive_.

But moments like these can never last forever.

“Do you want to stay here, or do you want to get on our way?” So many questions, I know. It may overstimulate him. But I need to know if we should keep going now or if I should enjoy this moment, this sweet moment that will probably never occur again.

To my dismay, Snow holds up two fingers, sits up, and walks back to the car.

As much as I don’t want to let go of what just happened, I do. I take and store that memory on a shelf where I keep those few good times I've had. And then I walk back to the car.

The first thing Snow does when I climb back into the car is take my hand. I freeze.

_Is he really holding my hand_?

I can feel my cheeks blush, yet I turn towards him. But Snow’s not doing anything spectacular. All he’s doing is staring at nothing.

Like the first part of the drive, the second is silent other than the occasional, “ ** _Hurry up_** ,” or, “ ** _Make way for the king_**.” And every once in awhile, Simon squeezes my hand to remind me he’s there (at least, that’s what I think). We finally roll up to the large Victorian mansion known as “home” after about thirty minutes.

“Well, this is it,” I say, not really to anyone. But I turn to Snow and squeeze his hand. He nods and says nothing.

So, I continue. “And I’m going to need to cast a couple of spells on you. You know, like I did on the road. Did you see how, you know…”

_How do I explain this to him?_

“I’m just going to do a few things like, “ ** _Be our guest_**.”” Which works. “And, **_these aren’t the droids you’re looking for_**.”

Simon Snow disappears.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

**Baz**

What I remember before blacking out is very little.

As soon as I made sure I properly magicked Snow, I could tell the adrenaline was finally on my tail. All I had to do was walk in, slip upstairs, and act like nothing has happened or that I was gone for that matter (with Snow trailing behind me, of course). It was a possible feat, I was sure of it. But as soon as I made it through the front door, I felt my eyes droop and then…

Nothing. I felt nothing.

But now I feel something, or someone, holding onto my hand. Laying in my bed. Two steady heartbeats fill the room. I know one is Simon’s. But the other’s?

I open my eyes, seeing darkness. Then, I see Penelope, her friz hanging in my face.

“I thought you died,” she says.

“No, no… Why would you think that?” I groan, sitting up. Simon’s next to me, fully visible, fast asleep.

 

**Simon**

_Sparks. Sparks are flying. I am frustrated, stressed, and on the verge of tears._

_How’s Baz right now? Is he okay?_

_Oh, God. I failed that test. I didn’t even know there **was** a test. I bombed it. I knew nothing, don’t remember anything. _

_Is that Mason?_

_Oh shit, he’s coming my way. Suck it up._

_Stop smoking._

_He’s looking at me weird._

_“Snow… why in the hell are you smoking?”_

_Stop. Smoking._

_He snickers, then shoves me._

_“What was that for?!”_

_I feel all my energy focus itself to my chest, like some sort of heart attack._

_Am I having a bloody heart attack?_

_Stop smoking!_

 

**Baz**

“He was invisible when you were out. And you still look like arse. For Crowley’s sake, explain!” Penelope lectures me as I try to get comfortable with holding Simon’s hand. We have the same idea of holding hands—thumb in, pinky out. His hands are warm, alive, and I’m trying to lap it up until he pulls his hand away or wakes up or both.

Do I tell Penelope everything? And why is she here and not at home? And I wonder if the Mage has started investigating yet…

Back to Penny.

“Same boy I told you about, the one with the magic and all…” I want to run my fingers through Simon’s hair and lean down to press a kiss to his forehead. I can’t, and I keep a stone cold look to keep Penelope from knowing this. “He finally _went off_. I found him on the school grounds, shaking and I knew that I had to hide him from the Mage…” So he wouldn’t change Simon, so he wouldn’t make him a replica. So he wouldn’t be perverted to the standards of his mentor. “It’s the best thing for him, I think, and I promised that I would keep him safe.”

Penelope looks torn. Her brow raises, then furrows, then falls into natural position. A hefty sigh fills my room. “I don’t know if keeping a ticking time bomb in your bedroom is safe, Baz. I mean, as much as any Old Family hates to admit it, I think the Mage would have a better idea of what to do with him—”

“No.” I say defensively, my chest puffing out of instinct. “No, I am not going to let the Mage touch Snow. I’m not going to let—”

“Let _what_ , Baz?” She’s being short and sounds tired. (Aren’t we all?) “The Mage _will_ find him and take him, no matter what. Whether it be through another blast or out of the freaky magic he has, he will find Simon Snow if he is truly the heir.”

I hate that, _damnit_.

If he is the Mage’s heir, he’s my enemy. One or both of us will die, and one or both of us will have the blood on our hands.

 _Why am I always the Villain?_ If I die, it’s celebrated. If I kill, I’m damned.

No wonder my mother wants blood suckers dead. They never get an out. It’s mercy, really.

I need a drink.

“Where are you going?” Penelope asks as I shove myself from the bed. She follows close behind, stepping in front of the door before I can reach for the handle.

“Out,” I grunt with a, “ ** _Back off_**.”

And she does.

 

**Penelope**

Seeing Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch so defensive over someone is more than just surprising to me. It’s almost scary. Baz was only down in London for a little more than a month, but it’s like he’ll cross every line for that bloke lying in his bed, blacked out from exhaustion. (If I blew up a part of London, I would be too.)

What I want to know is how Snow did it. How did he store up so much magic for eighteen years of his life and finally blow like a bloody nuke? How did he not know any sooner, or at all? Why in the world did Baz not tell him?

More specifically, why does Baz _care_?

I don’t ever think I’ve seen Baz care for someone. He cares for me and Agatha (we’re friends, that’s a given), but what is between him and Simon seems to run deep within him.

And then I remember. The crucible drew them together.

I’ve never felt something deep with Trixie. Hell, I might even hate her. But Baz… Baz might be in love. With a boy. That he knew for a month. Isn’t that too soon?

Even I can admit Snow is handsome. He has beautifully freckled skin and hair that changes colors with every different type of lighting. One minute it’s bronze, the other, it’s gold. But in the darkness, it’s copper. And it’s curly. I can just imagine someone someday running their fingers through his curls, whether it be out of comfort or just habit. And who knows, maybe it’s Baz’s goal to be that person.

Maybe that’s why he cares so much.

And maybe Simon Snow cares back, he _was_ holding Baz’s hand.

But I don’t know him and he’s suffering. People do things they never thought they would when they’re suffering.

**Simon**

_I won’t stop smoking and I’m scared. It’s not figurative anymore. I can feel and taste it. It’s blinding me._

_I’m scared._

_I want Baz._

_“Snow, stop being a pussy! Stop crying!” Mason laughs. And shoves me again._

_And then I catch on fire._

 

 

**Baz**

Simon Snow, the Chosen One, the Mage’s heir, my sworn enemy as soon as the Mage bloody brain washes him. My crush.

I have a crush on him.

Why do I have a crush on him?

Why do I always doom myself? I’m an eighteen year old gay vampire that has a crush on my sworn enemy. I’ve fucked myself over.

“Why?!” I scream at no one, kicking a tree. Then I crumple in pain. Surprisingly, I didn’t know I felt sick until just now. But I feel ill and clammy and in need of a drink. At the same time, I feel like I need to turn around because that same feeling I had when Snow was about to blow is collecting in my chest.

Blast it, I can get a drink later.

Once I return to the house, I ignore the flood of siblings and limp my way up the stairs to my room. I don’t remember when I hurt it.

When I walk into my room and slam the door behind me, I find that Simon is smoking and is gleaming like a fucking Twilight vampire. It’s weird and beautiful to look at, but before I get too caught up in my feelings, I shove Penelope to the corner of the room, hop onto the bed, and take his hand. I allow him to have his thumb on the inside, and maybe that’s why he stops smoking.

Snow’s eyes open a moment later. Already, I can tell that he’s not ready to speak but he wants to talk, and surely he wants to know everything. I just need to know if he’s ready and if he still wants to hold my hand. I squeeze it. He pulls away. I try not to let the disappointment show in my face. (And I don’t, I’m bloody good at poker for this reason.)

“So, I want to tell you everything, Snow. Everything I know, at least. Do you want to hear it? Are you ready?” Using my soft voice seems to open Simon up just a bit. He sits across from me, criss cross. A sense of calm is on his face, but I can tell he’s still scared. His shoulders tremble as he sits there.

Part of me wants to reach out and grab his hand, to pull him to me and hold him. The urge to grab him and kiss his head all over and his cheeks and moles runs through me, almost like the hunger that’s making the air smell like copper and both Penny and Simon’s heartbeats easier to hear. But neither of them know nor do they need to. (Okay, Penelope knows I'm a vampire.) (I never spare the details, though.)

Simon’s eyes are drinking every aspect of the room except me, face or body. That makes me wonder if he followed my parents and crashed as soon as they left or if he’s just in space—his mind. But then his eyes fall on me and he nods.

How to start…

“When I first saw you… It was a day before I had to go back to school. I told you this. But I didn’t tell you that I go to this school called Watford school of magicks. I’m a magician. I practice magic. Penelope does too.” I nod towards her.

“You don’t, _but_ you’re a magician. Snow, you’re a powerful magician.”

Smoke seems to billow from him again, and when I take his hand to try and calm him down, he burns my hand. I let out a hiss.

“ ** _Hush little baby_** ,” Penelope croons from behind me. Thankfully, it works. But Snow keeps a grip on my hand.

“Want me to keep going?” I ask.

Simon nods.

“And when I walked into that coffee shop, I felt a pull, a gut attraction. I didn’t know why, but I put two and two together. The crucible gave us each other.” Crowley, I sound like a moron.

Snow furrows an exhausted brow.

“The crucible assigns people their roommates,” Penelope further explains, taking a seat next to me. “You weren’t there to be his roommate and the crucible knew that.”

“All this time, you were supposed to be at Watford. But you projected little magic until now.” Until he blew up a school.

“And if it makes you feel any better, no one is dead.” Penelope gives him an encouraging smile. “That’s good.”

A skeptical look is in Snow’s eyes. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t believe Penny or anything we say.

“Did you feel that feeling too, Simon? That feeling when we first saw each other?” My voice is more tender and I want to kick myself for oozing.

Thankfully, he nods.

“It’s a lot to take in, Simon. Magic itself is a lot to take in. And if you’re not raised around it, it’s especially hard to believe.” Penelope squeezes his shoulder. “But once you’re feeling better, Baz ’n I will help you with beginner spells. How does that sound?”

Simon looks uncomfortable, incredibly uncomfortable. He looks like he wants to ask a million questions, but there’s conflict in his body language. And then, he glares at me. It’s harsh, and if he stares too long, I wouldn’t be surprised if I burst into flames. I look away, unsure of what to say.

A fist beats down on the pit of my leg and I look up, sneering. But I stop myself. Snow looks like he’s going to cry and there's a pleading look in his eyes.

 

**Simon**

If he knew I was a magician all this time, why didn’t he tell me?!

 

**Baz**

Simon throws another weak punch at my kneecap, but I grab his wrist.

“Use your words.”

His magnificently blue eyes begin to search for what he wants to say, but I can tell he’s irritated. His fists are clenched and a white smoke is beginning to lift off him. Finally, he looks at me, hurt. “Y-you ne-e-e-e-ver said.”

I called it, I bloody called it. And I also call that if I use the “trying to protect you” excuse, he would become angrier.

“There’s never a good time to tell someone who can’t figure it out themself.” That sounded harsher than I meant it to be, but maybe it’s good to start that early. He will be my enemy eventually. Why not start bloody now?

_Why does he have to be my enemy?_

Snow obviously takes offense, but instead of talking, he shuts down again.

So, I decide it’s time for him to turn in. But I should probably ask Penny to do the robot spell. It’s more effective when she does.

I turn to her and raise a brow. “ **Droids**?”

With a sigh, she aims her ring at him and says, “ ** _These aren’t the droids you’re looking for_**.”

I add, “ ** _There’s nothing to see here_**.”

That’ll do.

I can hear Simon quietly complaining through grunts and huffs, but I ignore him as I turn to Penelope. “I feel like an arse putting him away like that…”

“You’re the one that wants to protect him, whatever that means.” With an eyeroll, she heads towards the door. “I should get going, but I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?”

“Whatever you want,” I mumble, turning towards where I previously saw Simon. He’s sitting on the bed and I can tell by the dent in the mattress.

 

“Why do you have to appeal to me, Simon Snow? Why do I have to find you so pretty, so soft, so… bright? Why does my dead, vampire heart have to beat for you?” Aleister Crowley, I sound like a complete git.

“And why does the world totally screw me over?” I hop down from the tree branch I was strewn across and kick the tree.

 _Ow_.

Why do I keep doing that?

“My mum would want me dead because of _that_ ,” I wave my hand at the drained deer carcass, “and the Mage wants to place a wedge between our friendship… no…. Our… companionship?”

What are we?

“Basically, he wants us to be enemies and guess what, Simon Snow?”

I turn towards my house. From far away, I can see my window. The curtains are closed. _Thank Merlin_.

“I have a crush on your explosive arse and I’m flammable! You’re going to kill me!” I yell at the window like he can hear me.

I’m probably right. He _will_ kill me.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Baz**

I would've slept on my bed last night, but when I returned to my bedroom, I noticed Simon’s dent on the bed.

There was a strong urge to join him, to lace my hand with his and rustle his hair until I fell asleep. To cuddle into his side like I would fit. But Simon was mad at me and I didn't want to push him over the edge. Another magical explosion is not something I’d like to see… or be around.

So, I slept on the couch and shamefully snuggled with the old Paddington bear I still hold onto. I had a decent sleep—I usually have night terrors. But I was wakened up by my door being slammed open.

Now, I'm staring at my aunt Fiona who’s glaring at the visible Snow. He's clung to one of my pillows, spittle rolling down his cheek and onto the satin pillow case.

(Note to self: change the pillowcase.)

My aunt’s eyes are wide and surprised, and when she turns to me, she narrows them. “ _Basilton_.”

I haven't any idea of what is going through her head, yet I feel like I've been caught red handed.

“Morning, Fiona…” I bite my lip.

“Care to explain?” She nods towards Snow.

I say the first thing that comes to my head. “He's my boyfriend.”

 _Of course_.

Fiona’s harsh stare softens, her eyes going back to the boy in the bed. Then back at me. “Okay… well, if you want to eat…”

Although she knows my issues, she always offers food and I _know_ Simon will be starving. I don't think he ate anything other than breakfast yesterday, and knowing how he is with food, that’s a _long_ time.

“Okay… Just let me wake him,” I say calmly, tucking the bear under my couch. I’ll magic it hidden later, but as of right now, I have to explain things to Snow… and my family if aunt Fiona spills.

Once she closes the bedroom door, I let out a sigh—I’ve been holding my breath. Then, I turn to Snow. He looks so peaceful in his sleep, but we’ve got a busy day and he’s probably famished.

I climb onto the bed and assess the situation carefully. He’s mad at me, so do I act mad back? I mean, that’s what I always do, I always shove back. But he’s explosive and I’m flammable.

Snow lets out a groan when I nudge him with my foot, then curses under his breath when I do it again. His eyes finally open once I just about kick him. Then he sits up and throws a glare at me, but his eyes are quickly on everything else around us. Simon’s eyes sink to the bedsheets and he sighs.

“Yesterday… It really happened.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem angry or shocked… He just seems sad.

“It did,” I reply. “There’s nothing you can do about it except carry on.”

“But I’m guilty! I blew up a fucking school!” Snow almost screams, allowing me to instinctively clamp a hand over his mouth.

“Would you like to say that any bloody louder, now?” I sneer, leaning in close.

So close.

He shoves me off and gets up. “I don’t know why you’re trying to protect me. We’re not friends.”

Right.

“I’m trying to keep you from outside influences. The Old Families are bad. The Mage is worse.” I stand up as well but lean against my bedpost since my ankle is aching like a motherfucker. “I’m trying to keep you on neutral grounds for as long as possible because if I don’t, you either become a minion or a bloody strategy. Which one do you want?”

At first, he looks defeated, but then, something rouses in him and he looks at me with a scowl. “I’m a minion to you, am I not?”

“More like collateral. My minions don’t talk back.” _Ouch_. Even those words sting me. I consider lessening the blow, but why should I? He’ll figure that he’s stronger than me eventually.

Instead of acting offended, Snow laughs, and even snorts. He takes a deep breath and exhales heavily before asking, “You actually have minions?”

Okay, maybe telling him that he’s my “boyfriend” won’t so hard… He’s starting to lighten up.

“I mean, kind of?” I stand up straight and stretch before heading towards my wardrobe. I think that it might be nice to lend Snow a pair of clothes. I didn’t pack much for him. (There _wasn’t_ much to pack.)

After pulling out jeans and a button-down, I grab a darker pair of jeans for Simon and a jumper. He probably looks cute in jumpers.

I toss the pair to him and he raises a brow but pulls the jumper on over his shirt.

(Simon _does_ look cute in a jumper.)

“I don’t really have any boyfriends. Dev and Niall, they’re the boyfriends I have but they don’t really want to mess with me unless I’m in a mischievous mood. But when I’m at school, I mean business so it’s pretty rare. Oh, and I always have to make the decisions when I hang with them.” I roll my eyes. Really, they’re morons but I don’t have much of anyone else.

“That sounds bland,” Snow mutters. I look back at him and his eyes are shifting, looking for another door other than the exit. When he doesn’t find one, he looks back at me. “Turn around.”

I oblige.

“You know, my aunt walked in and saw you in the bed this morning…” I say, deciding to lay it on him now. “And I panicked.”

It’s silent for a moment, then Simon says, “Panicked as in...? You can turn around.”

Doing so, I walk back over and take a seat on the bed. “I told her that you were my boyfriend.”

Simon appears to go through several emotions at once. His brows furrow and his nostrils flare, then he cocks his head, finally, a brow arches. He’s confused. “Why’d you tell her that?”

“It’s better than telling her that you’re the Mage’s heir. Then she’d proper kill you on the spot.” I shrug like it’s nothing, but now, _he_ looks panicked.

“Why?” he whispers.

I sigh. This is why I have to protect him.

“I don’t think she’d actually kill you, but she would have an advantage over the Mage and she’s ruthless. She’d do just about anything to make the Mage kneel in submission.” I chuckle. I can’t believe that I’ll be in her shoes as soon as I leave Watford.

“And?” Simon sits next to me and looks at my hand. I freeze for a minute, then quietly sigh when he places his hands in his lap. “What does that have to do with me?”

“I think she thinks that the Mage will do a lot to get you on his side. But I think I see a flaw in her planning. If… you do get taken by the Mage and blindly follow him, if he surrenders, he’ll revolt and take you with him until you’re useless to him. But you’re strong, Snow. You have a lot of power. More than any of us, actually. Maybe even more than the Mage.”

I hope to Merlin that the Mage won’t take him and that we’ll avoid this situation altogether.

“But since she doesn’t know you or your power right now, I think you won’t have to worry about it. We can practise magic in the library with Penelope when she’s over, but as of right now, I think we should eat.”

Simon’s stomach grumbles in agreement; I have to refrain from laughing.

 

When we get downstairs, the entirety of my family is waiting. Fiona, Daphne, Father, my siblings, and they are all staring Simon down. He grabs my hand out of what surely is nervousness and I squeeze it to comfort him. He eases a bit.

“Basilton,” Father says, standing up. There’s a mix of relief and anger on his face. “Sit down. You too…”

“Simon,” I tell him, tugging Snow behind. We sit next to each other and the plates begin to make rounds.

I get very little and Snow feels bad to get any more than a normal person, so when the plates begin to pass around again, I place just a little bit more of each of the foods on his plate.

He shoots me a thankful smile.

“So…” Fiona starts after a couple of awkward moments of silence. “Where ‘ya been, Baz?”

What do I say? Do I tell the truth about London, or do I make that up as well?

Crowley.

“I was in Canterbury and found this nice bloke.” I nod at him with my head. “I fell madly in love with him and now we’re dating.”

No one looks like they believe me, but no one can disprove what I said except Snow. It’s in his best interest not to.

Simon just nods along with my tall tale. “He moved in because he was feeling ill. He came back to get my mobile number but stayed because he came down with something.”

Partially true. Guilt. But it didn’t immobilize me.

“But he studied his private school Romanian books every day, so he wasn’t slacking.”

“Basilton doesn’t slack,” my unamused father mumbles as he sips on his tea. “He’s just about top of his class.”

Simon just nods and takes a bite of sausage.

“I was feeling better until that issue in London… but now my leg’s gone bad and it hurts to get about.” I lean against the table but sit up when Daphne gives me a look.

“That’s not an excuse to not go back to school,” Father mutters, taking a bite of his food. “You need to.”

“A few more weeks, at least,” I try to bargain. Then I stop.

This isn’t me. I would want to get back to school as soon as possible. I would want to beat Penny out for best grades. I would try my damndest on the pitch. But here I am, bargaining to stay home and attempt to train a blasted idiot.

Aleister Crowley, I am not myself.

“Fine. But if I catch you kicking a football around or prancing around like a git, you’re going right back and he—” He points a finger at Simon. “—will go back right to where he came from.”

 

“Do they think you brought a Normal home?” Penelope asks as she gently bounces on the couch. Her hair bounces with her. (It looks much nicer than it did yesterday, but we all look nicer.) (Yesterday was a helluva day.)

“I don’t know what they think, but none of them aren’t suspicious. My story was sloppy.” I groan, collapsing on the couch next to her. “I always plot things out, Penelope! How did I allow my story to be messy?! I mean, Snow went along with it.” Thank Merlin. “But everything else… Everything else seemed so unlike me. I don’t like this.”

I pull my knees to my chest and glance at Penny. She’s twiddling her thumbs on her phone. When she notices that I’m staring at her, she says, “Of course you don’t. You always have a plan and this… whatever _this_ is, is spontaneous.”

I hate being spontaneous.

“I live off of being spontaneous,” Simon mutters, sitting up in the seat he’s tucked in.

“Yeah, spontaneous combustion,” I mumble, throwing my legs across Penny’s lap.

Snow winces and I refrain from snickering.

“Anyway,” Penny says, shoving my legs off her lap, “do you think you can tell us what happened now that you’re not as shaken?”

 

**Simon**

What happened?

Just thinking about it causes a weird feeling to swirl around me, and I guess that’s the magic I have.

Magic.

I’m a magician.

I still can’t wrap my head around it, but with what happened yesterday, there is no other explanation. I was standing in the hall with one of my tormentors and I just… lit up.

Magic. I am magic.

When I look back at Baz and Penelope, I let out a hefty sigh. They’re here to help me, even Baz. Sure, it was a dick move to keep such a giant secret from me, but he did it out of kindness, I think.

I think.

I hope.

There’s an urge to join them on the couch, but I don’t think I’m deserving. They are two, strong magicians and I’m a weak link. I don’t even understand why Baz would want to try with someone as unadvanced as me, but he’s on a mission: to keep me from the Mage, whoever he his.

That in itself sounds selfish, but I hope he’s doing it for the best.

I hope.

Both Baz and Penelope are staring at me, waiting for an answer, so I slide onto the ground and go to speak. But Baz pats the space between him and Penelope twice.

So, I graciously sit between them and start.

“When I got to school that morning, it started out pretty shitty. I’m not a normal kid there, people always make fun of me. But this time, yesterday, they were brutal. I got a phone and I told a couple of people because I was excited. I rarely get nice things, you see, and… Well, I didn’t bring it. So, kids started to push me around, call me a liar, shit like that.

“A couple of hours later, I went into my maths class and the teacher handed out a test and I didn’t know any of it because all I’ve been doing for the past few weeks was worry about Baz.”

I stop and glance at Baz in my peripheral. His features are soft.

“So, that made me extremely stressed and as soon as I noticed that I smoking, I stepped out. I’ve never smoked at school before, and as I walked through the hall, I noticed a red film fill the air. I knew something was up. Something _had_ to be. I didn’t want anything to happen at school. I was trying my damndest to get to the door, but before I could walk out of the hall, this bully walked up towards me and asked why I was smoking.

“I tried to just walk off and not say anything because, at the time, I didn’t know _why_ I was. But that was already adding to the lot on my back. Then, he shoved me. I began to cry and I wanted Baz. I just wanted some clarity and I rarely almost blew when he was around… and I was scared.

“The bully shoved me again after telling me not to be a pussy and I caught on fire. I lit up. That scared him away and me out of the school and then…”

I make a noise to go along with my hand gesture in describing that I finally just exploded.

Penelope looks sympathetic and Baz, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. His dark grey eyes are focused on his hands and every once in awhile, a little flame levitates from his palm.

_That’s cool._

“They probably think you’re dead,” Penelope finally says, squeezing my knee. “The Normals.”

“I don’t know,” says Baz, lifting his head. “We were on-site for a while. Surely someone saw.” He shakes his head, throwing himself off the couch. As he begins to pace, he fists his hair and grumbles. “Merlin, Morgana, Aleister Crowley! God! Jesus Christ!”

And he kicks a leg post on the table in front of the sofa with his bad leg. Because of that, he begins to jump around, holding his foot. “Why do I keep doing that?!”

Penelope acts like this is a normal thing. She focuses her ring on Baz and chants, “ ** _Early to bed and early to rise_**.”

“Waste of magic,” Baz snaps at her.

“You’re derailing us, so I don’t care.”

I can tell they’re friends.

“So, you’re saying that there might be a manhunt for Simon?” Penelope rests her head on the back of the couch.

Baz is pacing again and he nods. “Crowley, I’m an idiot!”

I hate to interject, but, “What do you mean when you say ‘Crowley’ and ‘Merlin’ and—”

“A magician’s equivalent to ‘God’ and ‘Jesus Christ’, I guess… We rarely use the latter.” Penelope shrugs.

“Do you think the Mage will be able to sniff Simon out?” Baz turns to Penelope and she just shakes her head.

“When he doesn’t find Simon in London, he’s probably going to search high and low.”

“Is there a cloaking spell?” Now, Baz sounds past desperate.

All because of me?

Or because he wants to use me?

“Why do you care?” I ask quietly. Both of them look at me. The anger on Baz’s face melts away and he sits down again, but he jitters his foot about, surely out of nervous habit.

When he turns to me, I can’t read his expression. He’s good at that, hiding his feelings when he wants to.

“I care because I don’t want you to turn into a bloody lunatic like the Mage.”

 

**Baz**

Translation: I don’t want you to turn into a powermonger like the Mage and decide that we should be enemies like the rest of the World of Mages wants us to be.

I want us to be companions. Friends. And if possible, something more.

I’m hopeless.

 

**Simon**

Baz is lost again, so I turn to Penelope. She looks surprised with Baz, but when she looks at me, she says, “One good thing about the Mage is that he’ll make sure the Normals will refrain from hunting you down. He has a thing with you, if you are the Chosen One, and he’ll protect you at all costs.”

That’s good to know…?

“What are they calling the blast?”

“Some say it’s domestic terrorism, others say it was an electrical accident. There was nothing suspicious and the tapes at your school were obliterated.” Penelope stands up and says, “ ** _See what I mean_**.”

To my complete surprise, she begins to write in the air with her finger and _I_ can see it.

Cool.

She decides to make a T-chart, and at the top of each section, she writes, _What we know:_  and _What we don’t know:_.

“So, what we do know is that you’re a magician, obviously.” Penelope writes that down in the “ _What we know_ ” column.

“That’s literally all we _do_ know,” Baz says, extending his legs to prop his feet on the coffee table. “We don’t know the consequences, just how powerful he is, where his allegiances are… We don’t know anything else.”

At first, she goes to write something else down, but then she sighs. “We will eventually, but as of now… ** _Clear the air_**!”

The words disappear.

And then silence.

Penelope slumps against a massive bookshelf and pulls out a book before flipping to a random page.

Baz almost leans against me but redirects his weight backwards.

I just sit there and look around.

I still can’t believe that I’m a magician and that I’m supposed to be at Watford school of magicks.

Not only that, but I’m the _Mage’s heir_ whatever that means and it’s supposed to be a bad thing. (At least to Penelope and Baz.)

Is it really?

Eventually, Penelope slides the book back into its slot and looks at me. “Are you ready to learn magic?”

Am I?

“Yes.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Simon**

 

“Up.”

I groan.

They kick the bottom of my foot, so I kick at them and groan again.

“Come on, Snow. Up. We’re going on a run.”

 _Baz_.

“You're not allowed to run. Your dad’ll send you back to Watford.”

I bury my face back into the pillow.

This time, Baz scoops me up in his arms and I nearly punch him in the jaw—I stop when I recognize that stare.

It's the “you touch me and you're dead” look. After spending about six weeks with the bloke, you figure out what a sigh means, or what a certain brow raise entails.

He's not joking.

“What kind of running?” I almost groan again. I'm not a giant sports person, but footie is fun every once in awhile. (Unless I’m _watching_ football.) (I’m all for it then.)

Baz shrugs, placing me down on the ground. “ _I was lying_ ,” he mouths.

Someone must be listening.

“But running? Isn't that bad for your ankle?” I nod towards his foot, which has been better since Penelope healed it. He's been faking for the past week and a half.

“Walking, actually. Sorry, running is instinctive for me.” He shrugs like it's true, so it must me. “So, get on your trackies and trainers and we should be good to go. Oh, and Penelope’s joining us.”

Surprisingly, I'm somewhat disappointed that Penny’s coming—I call her Penny now. Not because I don't want her here, but because I kind of want a bit of alone time with Baz. Between pretending to be his boyfriend and acting like total strangers, I never find time for a middle ground when we’re alone. We never find time to be flat-mates. I mean… we weren't the best flat-mates, but it's a happy medium that I enjoy. It's a comfortable zone.

“Okay!” I cheer anyway, because I guess it will be nice to have Penny as a mediator in case there's a small issue—those can spark almost naturally between Baz and me—but I wouldn't count on it. We get on generally well, and usually I get his dry sense of humour. It's taken a bit, but now I shove him and roll my eyes at his snide remarks.

“Crowley,” Baz groans this time, backing away from me. “You're never this excitable in the morning.”

He's suspicious. When is he not though?

“Ah, bugger off, you twat. Let me dress.” I swat at him again, but he catches my wrist.

I never quite understand how he does that.

“Don't hit me, Snow.” Baz gives me a pointed look and turns around to walk out. I swear I saw a hint of a smile just before he faced away.

He rarely smiles around me, so that makes me feel good about myself.

Once I'm proper dressed in my trackies and trainers, I open the bedroom door, only to be startled by Baz. From what I can tell, he was staring intently at it.

I wonder why.

He snaps out of his thoughts and looks back up at me with his cool grey eyes. “You ready?”

“Is Penny?” I ask.

Is she even over? It’s kind of early.

“She's just about here…” He looks around, making sure no one hears him before turning back to me. “There's some news from Watford and that's why she's coming along with us.”

A flutter of excitement fills me when he says this. I don't know why, practising so far has been a lot more listening than actually casting spells, but both Penny and Baz said I wasn't advanced enough to try to conjure fire like he can. And if I did, I'd probably blow the house up.

_I don't count on killing anyone. As of now, I don't have a body count and I don't intend on making one._

They both say I need a wand, or a ring, or a magickal family heirloom, but we all know I don't have a family.

Ha.

So, Penny went off to Watford to look for ways to scrounge up _something_.

I think she’s got something.

Bless her.

“By the way, if you can decrease your magic a bit, do.” Baz gives me a look. “My parents are starting to get suspicious, I think. They're listening pretty closely and I think my dad might know that you're a…”

“I get it.” I shrug.

I can barely control my magic. How am I supposed to just tone it down?

Maybe he thinks I can because there are times when I don't even feel it—my magic—running through me and I've become pretty attuned to it. It's warm and sporadic, and sometimes, chaotic. But a lot lately, both Penny and Baz have made sure I've stayed as stress-free as possible.

I've been more in awe with everything than stressed so far, but let's see how long that lasts.

(I'll probably start stressing when I have to start actually applying magic to everyday tasks.) (They do and I've seen it.)

We make our way down the stairs moments later and are met with Baz’s aunt. She's staring me down, I think. So I grab Baz’s hand out of instinct. (I do it almost anytime I'm facing Baz’s family.)

Thankfully, her eyes turn to Baz and she raises a brow. “So, where are you two going?”

“On a walk. Stretch my ankle, you know?” Baz nods towards his foot, which looks strained.

I wonder if he's using magic on it to look that way or if he's really good at pretending it does.

Fiona looks suspicious when she looks back at me. She begins to lean in towards me, and before I can cower, she whispers, “Make sure he doesn't run about. He doesn't exactly like to abide by the rules.”

She leans back and walks off, looking more suspicious than before.

I give at least two minutes before I unleash Baz’s hand and look over at him with confusion on my face. “What does she mean when she says…”

“I'm not exactly naughty, but I don't always go by the rules… especially at home.” Baz continues towards the large foyer and when we enter, I notice it's still dark out.

Why are we going out so early?

I guess Baz notices my look of dismay. He says, “I'm not a big fan of daylight. I'll be in it if I have to, but since it's the weekend and we’re currently out of school, we don’t have to be.”

“And why is Fiona up…?” I knew she's a late riser, via Baz.

When he turns back to me, he looks just as confused. “She has these spurts of energy every once in awhile, so she takes care of—”

A sharp knock stops Baz mid-sentence, so he turns around and opens it.

Penny looks all wide eyed and alert with those glasses of hers. A grin cracks on her face and she runs up to me, squeezing me tight in her chubby arms.

“How are you, Simon?” she asks, pulling away.

Whatever news she's brought must be good.

“I'm well, Penny, and I can tell you are as well.”

She giggles, then turns to Baz. (Yes. Giggles.) (I don't know who she’s fooling. She _never_ giggles.)

He looks just as surprised. Not that Penny is a crestfallen individual, but she's certainly never so giggly or excited.

Is this a trick?

Before I can question any further, she pulls both me and Baz out of the door and tugs it closed.

“Everyone is suspicious,” she says, dropping the act. “ _Everyone_. My mum, the Wellbeloves… your parents especially.” Penny sends Baz a look before gazing at me. “Everyone.”

I don't know what that's supposed to mean. “In what way…?”

Penelope goes to continue, but Baz begins to make his way to the wood. We follow.

“The Mage returned to Watford a few days ago, on Wednesday. He looked upset, _really_ upset. Premal won't spill, so I don't know what is going on with the Mage, but what I do know is that he isn't going to be there very often.”

It's funny to see Penny trying to keep up with us. She’s short and we’re generally tall. But she's trying. She's a couple of steps behind, though.

“What is your plan, Penelope?” Baz asks, turning to her. I can't quite recognize that tone he’s using. Is it anger or confusion? Probably both. But it sounds like he’s straining something.

By now, we’re deep enough in the wood to take a seat, so we do. Penny sits on a flat rock and I perch beside it. Baz paces, probably plotting beyond Penny’s idea.

“Well… I really don’t know how this will play out, _but_ I think the Mage has Simon’s power conductor. He's the heir, yes?” Penelope looks at Baz, then me, then at Baz again.

Baz’s harsh stare makes me nervous, but his voice doesn't match the glare. “Pretty bloody sure.”

“Well…” Penny looks down and I think I see shame on her features. “I might be able to steal an heirloom if I can find one.”

Both Baz and I freeze. Penny? Steal?

“You’ll be expelled, Penelope! You’ll be excommunicated! And what would any of the Old Families say? Everyone is the bad guy except you and Simon in this situation. I—”

“What about you?” I stand up, dusting the leaves from my arse. The sun is beginning to come up, so the way the light hits his face makes his expressions all the more dramatic. “You’re not a bad guy…”

All Baz has done was protect me, why would he be a bad guy?

Maybe I’m being too naive, but I trust Penny….

Do I…?

“Aw, thanks, Baz! Now you’ve got Simon confused!” Penny grunts, grabbing me by the elbow. I turn around and she just shakes her head.

“He thinks that he’s a bad guy, but really he’s an eighteen-year-old stuck in his emo phase.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Baz almost sneers, throwing a dirty look Penny’s way. “I have a perfectly logical reason to feel eternally damned.”

Penny stares at him like she understands, while I’m left in the dark. Whatever it is, I want to hug him, maybe even squeeze him.

“Baz,” I say quietly. He looks up at me and immediately looks back down, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Baz,” I say again, stepping closer. “I know we’re not exactly friends, but—”

“Stop acting like you care!” he yells loud enough to scare a few birds from the trees. “You don’t care and it doesn’t matter anyway. Penelope is right. I am emo.”

“Sounds more like _emo_ -tionally scarred, Baz. Do you talk to the therapist about this—”

Baz almost charges into me as he gets up right in my face. There are only a few centimetres between our faces. His hot breath hits me and I’m surprised that he smells fresh. He must’ve been up early.

**Baz**

 

_Don’t cry, Basilton. Don’t cry. You don’t cry. That’s not you._

Then what am I? I don’t even recognize myself as I stare into those two, blue pools that are Simon’s eyes. I don’t recognize that feeling of my heart flip-flopping as I stare at his lips. I don't recognize that visceral impulse to bend down and kiss Simon Snow on the mouth.

What I do recognize is that at the end of every plot, I’m the mastermind. I’m the evil link. I’m the blame. Whenever I’m part of something slightly bad and we get caught, I’m the person who did bad. I’m the bloody villain.

What I do recognize is that I’m nothing more than a bloody vampire who can perform magic tricks. I’m a disgrace to the Pitch name. I’m the butt of the family.

I’m nothing.

And Simon Snow is everything.

When I realize that the space has lessened between me and Snow, I step back and swallow my pride.

Simon looks completely frazzled.

“Baz,” he whispers, stepping close.

I run.

I run and run and run until I can’t feel my legs anymore, and once I’ve exhausted myself, I collapse.

My lungs feel like they’re filled with fire and my vision, despite it being perfect, is blurred. I thought I wasn’t feeling good a week or so ago. Now, I feel sick and empty.

I feel empty.

The last time I felt empty like this was right before I walked into that little coffee shoppe and met Simon. Everything was confusing, but with Simon, everything makes a dangerous amount of sense.

The world is spinning around me and it feels as if I’m going to hurl. And maybe I will. But right for right now, I will lay here and close my eyes.

And I sleep.

 

I don’t know how long I sleep, but I’m awoken by someone’s warm, warm hand pressed to my cheek. I lean into that touch and the person hisses under their breath.

“Is he always so cold?”

Simon.

“Yeah, I think he’s half reptile. I’m certain he’s cold-blooded.” Penny laughs and I want to sit up and snap at her, but if I do, Simon will pull his hand away and it’s so warm and soft.

And I want to kiss his palm, but I can’t.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” he titters, making me want to unleash a first of fury on him. But I enjoy his warmth and comfort more. “Some people run cold… You know, I wish I did.”

_Simon, no you don’t._

“Why?” Even Penelope is using an “are you sure?” tone.

“Well…” Simon drops his hand from my cheek and I almost pull it right back, but I’m pleasantly surprised when he brings my head to his lap. I can practically feel the magic radiate from his hands as he runs his fingers through my hair and it’s _so warm_. “You can only take off so much when you’re hot, but when you’re cold, you can bundle yourself until you can’t take any more. Kind of like that kid in the _Christmas Story_.”

Both Penelope and Simon laugh.

“What do you think we should do with him?” Penelope asks. I can hear her sit down next to me. She takes a hand of mine, but her warmth will never compare to Simon’s.

“Well, when I was totally out of it, he just held me. That helped a lot. And since he’s not awake, it won’t be too awkward, I think.” No, not at all.

There’s a brief moment of quietness. I hear the fervour of life surround us as it wakes with the sun. I can’t be out too much longer without stinging a bit, so I think I’ll “wake up” before too long.

“Do you think he was going to try and kiss me?” Simon asks after a while. I can feel my heartbeat quicken and I pray he can’t feel it.

Penny sighs. “I don’t know… Does it… does it freak you out?”

I know she’s asking so she can report to me. She’s not as thick as Simon is, plus she knows that I don’t just care for someone for no reason.

At first, I only cared because I thought he was my redemption. Now, I care because I’m falling down that slippery-slope of fancying the moron.

So much for redemption. He’ll probably be my demise.

“I… don’t think I’m gay.”

I guess he’s never heard of bisexuality.

Penny just hums. She does that when she’s finished talking about something for the moment, but she’ll come back to it later.

“Well, I think we should head back to the house. Baz doesn’t like the light all that much.”

I hear her get up.

And Simon laughs. “Is he a vampire or something?”

I keep myself from stiffening.

“I thought they couldn’t go outside without catching on fire or something.”

“Totally a myth.” I’m positive that she rolls her eyes.

“So, they’re real?” Simon laughs.

“Everything Normals don’t believe are real. It’s like they exist out of spite of the Normals.” Penny laughs this time. “I mean, nothing wrong with them. But it’s funny at the same time.”

My head makes contact with the forest floor and then I’m lifted.

 

I’m carried all the way home and I finally “wake up” when I’m plopped on the sofa in the library. I pretend that I am rudely awakened by groaning and chucking a pillow in the direction I heard Simon shift towards.

I can tell the pillow hits him pretty hard. He lets out a loud grunt and collapses.

To make sure I didn’t injure him far too much, I sit up and stare him down. He’s fine, so I sneer, “Try that again.”

Simon scrambles to his feet and pelts the pillow at my head. I duck, catching it. “I swear to Morgana, Snow!”

“No!” Simon yells back, taking off a trainer. He holds back his arm to hurl it at me. “No! I’m going to because you just ran off and nearly scared me and Penny half to death! I do care, Baz. I care a lot!”

I don’t feel like having this fight, so I pull my wand from my pocket, aim it at the shoe, and say, “ ** _Out of the way_**.” Then I turn to Penelope. “I won’t partake in any of it, but tell me your plan.”

Simon sits next to me, miffed, as Penny begins.

She does the usual **_see what I mean_** and writes the chart in the air.

“So far, I’ve gathered that there’s some sort of heirloom for Simon. If he’s the highly prophesied heir like the entire magic community suggests him to be, the wand will be perfect for him. But there’s one problem.” Penny moved her finger from one side of the chart to the other. “We don’t know where it is.”

“Maybe in his office or maybe on him,” Simon mumbles, burying his mouth into the tops of his knees.

“What else do we know?” I ask. I said ‘we’. Damn it.

“That the Mage is searching high and low.. He may even start raiding homes to look for Simon. He suspects that he’s being hidden. As soon as he has a trace of his magic, he’ll be right on top of us.”

Merlin, why did I get myself into this?

Sometimes it doesn’t seem worth it.

But then I turn to Simon and I remember. Someone needs to keep him clean and I know that I’m trying my best. I don’t think there’s any other person for the job.

“Is there any sort of cloaking spell?” I ask, glancing at Simon. I can see out of the corner of my eye that his attitude has softened.

“Dark magic. We use it and we’re in _big_ trouble.” Penny sighs, turning back to her chart. “Now, where were we…”

While Penelope continues on what we do and don’t know, Simon scoots a bit closer.

“You’re not the bad guy.”

“Snow—”

Simon puts his index finger to my lips. “I’m not done.” He lowers his finger. “You are tough and look like the big bad wolf, but I can tell that you just want the best for everyone.”

My eyes fall to the floor. “That’s what I want, but I never fail to instinctively fuck things up.”

“Why is it instinct?” Snow’s voice is calming, but he sounds like a bloody therapist.

“Basically, bad is in my blood. It’s what I’m best at doing.”

“I’ve never seen you do bad, Baz. I call bullshit.”

“I’m a bully.”

“A smart one.”

“I growl at people.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Sneer?”

“Normal… you know… typical.”

I pull something that I probably shouldn’t.

“If my mum was alive, she’d want me dead.”

Simon’s eyes widen. “Thank God she’s not alive, then.”

Automatically, Snow cringes and I know that he doesn’t mean harm, but it hurts.

“ _My mother was a very good woman_ ,” I sneer, turning from him.

“She would want you _dead_ , Baz.” Simon’s hand is on my shoulder, practically burning through my shirt. He’s upset himself, but I’m not going to allow him to catch me on fire. I nudge him off.

“I’m a monster. And when we become enemies and you take a closer look at who I am, you’ll know why. My head will probably be mounted over your hearth in ten year’s time.” I cross my arms and expect the conversation to be over, but he nails me with a punch on the bicep.

I hiss and punch back.

“Bloody Morgana, Baz!” Penelope intervenes, walking over. I may have cracked a bone, to my surprise, and Penny begins to heal it.

_Why am I so out of control? My powers are usually under my thumb._

Once Penelope steps back, his arm is good as new. He punches me, _again_.

“You’re literally trying to save me from some power-nut that I’m magically tied to. I do not think that we’re enemies.”

I sigh quietly. If he only understood. “Yet.”

Before Simon can interject, Penelope yells, “Anyway!”

Then, she gestures to her writing.

“I made a general conclusion,” she says.

“And that is…?” I look over the board. I can barely read it, so I look back at her.

“This may be a terrible idea and if I’m caught, I’ll most likely be expelled,” she starts, “but I’ve decided that I’m going to find that heirloom and take it.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Penelope**

 

I have one shot at this. (Okay, I have many, but the Mage is getting closer and closer to Simon and there's not much time left.) I have one shot at grabbing that heirloom and running back to Simon.

While I was still at Baz’s house, I gave the low-down. I told them that we must find that object and trade it out with a magicked fake, maybe make some sort of magickal imprint on the thing.

But how?

And then I decided that I would stake out the office before I actually took anything.

So, I did.

I looked around all about and almost found nothing. There were books scattered about the office, Normal news articles, doodles of boys that looked like Simon. The place looked like a crime scene, really. And I know that messiness is a part of the Mage’s method of madness, so I was careful of not touching anything.

It took a while to find anything, and after a while of searching, I became exhausted. That was when I felt a low level of magic radiating from the base boards.

I was careful to pull the boards from the ground and when I did, I found a wooden wand, quivering for its owner.

Simon was written all over it.

After I sent a picture of the wand to Simon, he confirmed that they were willing to make a fake. Baz would whittle the wand and Simon would leave an imprint. It should work as long as Simon is the true heir, but otherwise, this plan will go up in flames. There's no way of telling though.

I got the wand Friday from the boys, and on Monday, today, I was lucky to find that the Mage is out. Again.

Now, it's just a waiting game.

I usually go at night. Everything is dark and the guards are easy to get around. I mean, when Baz was in the turret, I could always bypass them and stay in his room. I love the guards for how bypassable they are.

It's dark out now, but not dark enough. Twilight just ended and I'm waiting for every trace of day to fade, but sitting here and doing nothing won’t help me any.

So, I grab my phone from my pocket and call Simon.

He picks up after two rings.

“Got it yet?” He sounds excited, giddy. At some moments, he's excited to start using a wand, but when he watches either me or Baz use magic to clean the room or the dishes or something, he always asks if he _has_ to.

Baz does because he needs the practise. Me? I just do it because I want to. Both Simon and Baz get onto me for wasting it, but when will I care?

(Okay, I will care when I actually _need_ it.)

“No, Simon. Hold your horses. I probably won't have it until late tonight, and I'll call you when I do.” I glance out of the turret window. (Yes, I'm in Baz’s room.) I can still see guards and students meandering about, so I know it's not my time. Not yet.

“Sorry, I’m just kind of excited.” I can tell by the way his voice is lilting.

“No, I don't blame you… but it's a waiting game, Simon.” I glance at the fake wand. I can feel his magic radiate from it. I don't know how they did it, but Baz must've dug something up from that extensive library at his house. “Just give me a little time.”

 

By the time it's ten, it's finally dark enough to sneak out. Guards have stopped wandering around to get students in their respective dorms and are now guarding the doors, but I know my way out. I did it a lot in sixth and seventh year, and I do it nearly every night this year. I'm not worried.

I'm out of the Mummers house in minutes, and all I have to do is get to the Mage’s office and find the wand again.

This should be hard, but the Mage isn't on school grounds.

And sneaking in will be incredibly easy.

 

**Simon**

 

It's a normal night. A “no magic or even speaking of it” night. Baz constituted it for two reasons: his parents are suspicious and he's tired of not talking while Penny’s not here. He said that since we will be roommates (it's almost inevitable, being caught by the Mage), we better get used to it. I agree with his angle, but also, I’ve wanted to actually hang with him since we got here. This is the first time we’ve actually made time to sit down and talk and watch telly and get to know each other. I mean, I’ve gotten to know him, but I haven’t gotten to _know_ him.

I’m excited about it.

Baz walks into the living area with a big bowl of popcorn and nods at me. “For you.”

I glance at the bowl, then at him, then at the bowl again. “It’s massive.”

“I don’t really like popcorn and I don’t want to get up multiple times to make you more. Therefore, I made you a whole lot in preface.” He drops the bowl in my lap, hops over the couch, and lands right next to me. “Movie or a football game? It’s pre-recorded, obviously, but…”

A movie would be nice, but I don’t remember the last time I’ve watched a game of professional footie. It had to be when I was still in foster care. I saw bits and pieces of games at Starbucks, but I never saw it the whole way through.

“It depends, what’s your team?” I turn to Baz and arch a brow.

“Manchester.”

“No…”

Baz laughs and pops a piece of popcorn in his mouth. As he chews, I notice his canines are obviously poking through his cheeks.

What?

“I wouldn’t think you to be a Liverpool fan…” It looks like he wants to laugh.

I do, in spite of myself. “When I was little, I would skip school and say I was sick when they lost.”

“If I wasn’t at Watford, I would undeniably do the same thing.” Baz takes another piece of popcorn and eats it.

Never in my life have I seen a person eat popcorn piece by piece.

“Are there tellies at Watford?” I cross my legs to get a bit more comfortable. The popcorn bowl sits in my lap.

“We used to be allowed technology, but when the younger classes started posting pictures of Watford, we lost the privilege.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. It isn’t for me either. It’s definitely handy, but I don’t _need_ it. I haven’t needed it for the past eighteen years of my life.

“Those damn kids.” After cracking a smile at Baz, I finally take a fistful of popcorn and shove it in my mouth…

So good.

“Crowley, Snow. Do you have no manners?” Baz gasps, and I close my mouth before glancing over at him.

As soon as I swallow my food, I mumble, “When you’re used to getting nothing, you get a little overzealous about food when it’s sitting right in front of you.”

The entertainment in Baz’s eyes disappears, but he puts that hard facade on and turns to the television. “So…?”

“Movie.”

I sit back and watch Baz flick through Netflix.

“Horror?”

“No. I get night terrors easily.”

“Same.”

“What about romance?”

“ _Really_?”

“I don't know! Why not?”

I snigger. “What about Fifty Shades of Grey?”

Baz throws me a dirty look. “I don't think it's even on here.”

Again, I laugh. “Fine. What else can we watch?”

And suddenly, I'm leaning on his shoulder. There's an instinct to take his hand as well, but I keep myself from doing so and almost move my head from the crook of my neck.

It feels nice and cold, so I stay.

“I don't know…” Baz goes to the romance section.

Seriously, I don't see him as a romance guy.

“Twilight.”

Baz shoves me off, so I shove him back with a laugh. “You know you like it.”

“It's an embarrassment to vampires everywhere,” he mumbles, adding, “bloody Normals.”

“Titanic.”

“They took it off a few months ago.”

“Grease?”

Although Baz growls under his breath, he pulls it up and it begins to play.

For a few minutes, we watch in silence. I take my handfuls of popcorn and shove them in my mouth and Baz eats one by one until he leans on me this time.

I feel a lump form in my throat.

And is that my heart skipping a beat?

What?

I care about Baz. I worry about how he is constantly afraid that he’ll mess up. I'm afraid that he’ll submit himself to a bad place because of his attitude. I've cared about him since I realized that I didn't know what I’d do if Baz really did get hurt in the clearing that night. But I never really thought that I’d care for him in the way I do right now.

All Baz is doing is leaning against me. It's innocent. But right now, I feel my heart hammer in my chest and all I can think about is holding his hand.

So I do. And I dare to ask, “Were you going to kiss me in the woods?”

I know Baz is trying to not show any emotion, but I can feel him stiffen. When I look down at him, I only see a stone-cold look anchored on his face.

“Baz…”

“No, I—”

“I don't think I would've minded if you did.”

Baz’s face doesn't change and neither of us has time to speak because before anyone can, my mobile begins to ring.

I pick it up and it's Penny. She mumbles an excited, incoherent sentence.

“What?” I say, shifting a bit in my seat. Baz lifts his head, but keeps his hand in mine.

“I said I got your wand!”


	11. Chapter 11

**Baz**

I don't know how, but Penny snuck the wand in early this morning. She gave it to me while I was still out, hunting for something to drain, and gave me the wand.

It felt like nothing in my hands like it was just another piece of wood, but when it began to itch the palm of my hand, I knew it was good for Simon.

Now, two hours later, I'm sitting in the bedroom, watching him.

Ever since that night we got here, he hasn't had a night terror. I have had a few, but nothing that has to do with him, yet. They're mostly about my mum, about the Vampires and the fire and the blood. Still, to this day, it's ingrained in my head. I remember everything I saw and absorbed everything I was told.

And I think about it a lot.

I wish I could tell Simon my story, confess my sins, explain to him that I’m not a good person. And as much as I don't want to tell him this, I need to. He's showing interest. He's holding my hand and he said he would've kissed me if I just leaned in.

_If I just lean in, he’ll kiss me._

But what if I feel nothing after that? Do I truly fancy him or is it an obsession?

Does everything feel right when I hold his hand, or is it just excitement?

I don't know what I feel for Simon, but it’s made me sloppy and I can't wait to find myself again but I'm just so lost in Simon and don't know my way out.

So, I sit there, staring at Simon, hoping to find one.

The curtains make the room dark, and I'm pretty sure Simon wakes by daylight when he’s not busy (he hasn't been for a while). I decide to open the curtains just enough to let the sun peek through. Then I place the wand on the pillow next to him, lay down on the couch, and fall asleep.

 

I wake up to Simon’s voice. Everything is groggy and I feel like telling Simon to shut up, but I fade back out again.

A gentle shove wakes me up a few seconds or a few minutes or a few hours later, and when I open my eyes, I see Simon’s bright smile right in my face.

I'm inclined to smile myself, but I don't. I close my eyes. “Exhausted. Come back later.”

Simon sits on the edge of the couch, space I’m not taking up, and holds out his wand, making sure he's not pointing it at anyone. “Look, Baz! I have a wand now!”

He sounds like a bloody child.

But he's happy.

I lazily tear my eyes open and gaze at the wand in his hand. He is _really_ happy about it.

It's pretty standard, but that smile on his face costs a million pounds.

“Penelope gave it to me really early this morning,” I say, my words raspy. “I don't know how, but she did.”

Simon looks at me suspiciously, and I'm unsure why. But I ignore it and sit up. “You want to practise with it? Small spells. _Very_ small spells.”

At first, Simon looks weary. His eyes are on the wand. He rolls his wrist and a small spark erupts from the tip. I jump back slightly into the back of the couch.

“That's… odd.”

“What is?” Simon looks up at me. There's a frown tugging at his lips and I want to make sure that it doesn't grow.

“You're definitely a magician, but… the wand’s weird.” I shake my head. It's probably an old wand anyway. “Let’s get breakfast. We’re bringing it up here so you can practice without worrying about the parental unit.”

We go downstairs; Simon leaves the wand behind in my wardrobe.

There's usually not much to eat for breakfast on Tuesdays. Everyone is at school or work and Fiona hates getting up early.

But when we walk into the kitchen, the smell of bacon just about knocks me off my feet.

Simon lets out a hum in delight.

“So, what are you cooking, Fiona?” I stroll into the kitchen casually, leaning against the counter near the electric stove. (It was gas until I Turned.)

“Eggs, scones, bacon… A full spread. I know Simon ‘ere likes to eat.” She looks over her shoulder and gives him a surprisingly kind smile. “Don’tcha, Simon?”

His freckles are on stark display when he blushes.

“Any special occasion, or…” I trail off.

She shakes her head. “No.”

Peculiar.

“Are the scones done yet?” I glance back at Simon—his mouth is watering.

She nods towards a pan on the counter.

Sour cherry scones.

“And do we have butter?” Again, I look back at Simon. His eyes are wide and hopeful.

“Why wouldn't we?” Aunt Fiona is beginning to sound a wee bit peeved, so I grab a few scones (mostly for Simon, one for me, and a couple to practise on) and grab a block of butter from the fridge.

We go back up.

“You didn't have to get a whole block of butter for me,” Simon says when we take a seat on the side of my bed. I magicked the door shut so I won’t have any unwanted visitors. (No one in my house respects privacy.)

“Yes, I did.” We both know I did. Simon is a butter hog. There's at least one shelf solely for butter because of Simon.

He huffs because he knows I'm right.

Then he says, “You know so much of me… but I don't know much about you.”

“You read like an open book, Snow. That's why.” I hand him a scone. “Have one while it's still hot.”

Simon graciously takes the scone but frowns when he notices I didn't grab a knife.

_Oh no._

_That spell_. I have to use _that_ spell.

“ ** _Butter my buns_**!” A butter knife is in my hand.

“Spiffy,” Simon laughs, taking the knife. He butters the scone sloppily, takes a bite, and moans in delight.

“Better than sex?”

He freezes, then blushes. “I wouldn't know,” he mumbles with a full mouth.

I'm glad I'm not the only one.

“It's a saying, you know… and might actually be a spell. I never tried pushing magic into the words though.” Modern spells like that make me like older spells a lot more.

“What would it do?” Simon asks, stuffing the other half of the scone in his mouth.

It's been around two months since I've known this sod and I’m still surprised by his blasted table manners.

“If I ever try, I’ll let you know.” I take a bite out of my scone and cover my mouth.

Simon’s quiet for a while, scarfing down one scone after another, but he stops mid-scone and turns to me. “Open up.”

Letting down my guard has never been an option. I have never trusted anyone enough to spew my thoughts and emotions on them. (Sure, I have Penelope, but she absorbs everything like a fucking sponge.) I’ve never had anyone sit me down and tell me that I should tell them anything. It sounds therapeutic, and I’ve never admired telling strangers my problems.

But Simon isn’t a stranger.

I just don’t want to scare him away. I have a lot of baggage that may just be in my head, but I’m insecure. Never had I thought I was insecure until I was around Simon. It’s not the, “do I look bad?” or the “I hope he doesn’t mind if I do this” insecurity. I don’t give a fuck about what I do or how I look. I’m just so insecure about my past and my future.

What will I ever be other than a vampire?

Simon’s warm, living hand slips into my cold, dead one.

“Baz, you won’t scare me. I had a terrible childhood. I mean, the pain has subsided, I don’t hurt when I think about it anymore, but I can testify that I’ve had my share of troubles as well.”

Simon sounds desperate. I want to share, but, “Where will that information go when the Mage gets to you?”

When I look into Simon’s eyes, I see hurt. That was never my intention, but no one can be trusted. Trusting people is a mistake.

“I would never use anything you told me against you, Baz. I could never go so low as to—”

“Stop.”

He does when I stare him dead in the eyes.

“You don’t understand the power of the Mage. Let me… tell you about someone. Actually, a few someones.” This may let down my guard a bit. I get comfortable, sitting in a cross-legged position before continuing.

“There was this boy at Watford when I first went. His name was Simon, like you, and even resembled you a little. Same coloured hair, but he wore these giant, wire glasses that were too big for his head.

“When the Mage found him at Watford, the boy disappeared and came back a month later, proficient at magic. He could do everything in year one with ease, but when year two came around… he didn’t.

“He died trying to slay a dragon with some sword the Mage gave him. It’s supposed to work with all ‘heirs’ or Chosen Ones or whatever. The wand was a dud to him, I think, so he tried to conjure that sword and… well, it didn’t work with him.

“The Mage acted like nothing was wrong and continued looking for boys that looked like you. Routine checks. And if he found someone just a bit like his description of this heir, he would whisk them up and lose them because their magic wasn’t enough in the end. Everyone was warned, but once the next boy went up, it was like he was brainwashed. They would do anything for the Mage. _Anything._ And that was their fall. They all died.”

 Simon’s eyes are as wide as saucers. He’s uncomfortable now.

 “So, if the Mage gets a hand on me, I’ll be… brainwashed?” His voice is merely a whisper.

“I don’t know if you’ll be brainwashed, necessarily, but you will be really different and I fear that it will affect what we’re developing.” A friendship? A relationship? I haven’t a clue.

Surprisingly, Simon sets the scone aside and gets up. “Do you have a knife?”

I stand up immediately. “Why would you need a knife, Snow?”

“Blood oath,” he says, going to leave the room, but I rush in front of the door before he can grab the handle.

“Have you gone bloody mad, Snow? I’m pretty sure there’d be a bad reaction to natural enemies swearing in blood.” I don’t know if that’s true, plus my blood would poison his, infect him. I feel guilty as it is. Turning him would make me feel ten times worse.

“Baz, I don’t care,” Simon practically cries. “I don’t care if it’s bad. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me. I rarely see any emotion in you. Angry, neutral, and sarcastic. That’s about it! When am I going to see the Basilton that Penny knows? I know you’ve been with her for seven years, but I want you to know you can trust me!”

Is Simon Snow… jealous?

I want to smile, but I don’t. Instead, I sit back down on the bed and wave him over.

He wearily joins me.

“I’ve never sat down and told anyone about myself before…”

“Most people allow others to read them instead of acting like they don’t have a soul.” Simon sounds playfully accusatory.

“Most people are smart enough to realize that being so easy to read only exploits them.” I cross my arms.

A twinkle of mischief glistens in Simon’s eye, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Hit home for you?”

Although he shakes his head, he seems like he’s one of those kids that’s too nice to refuse another child trying to copy their work in school.

“Please, just let me get to know you before I hate you. Give me a reason not to, even when I should.” He takes my hand.

And those walls come tumbling down.

 

**Simon**

I want to know everything. His interests, his hobbies, his favourite subjects at school, why he has night terrors. Knowing Basilton Pitch would be an honour, and I figured that out last night while I was entwining my fingers with his.

Baz seems dead set on the fact that I’ll no longer like him when I am found, when the Mage takes me and teaches me everything he knows.

At first, I thought Baz was a burden, but he’s a blessing. Will the Mage make me think he’s a curse? A stain on the magickal map? I couldn’t believe that. Baz can be rude and conniving at times, but he wouldn’t hurt me. He could never hurt me, right?

“Give me something to remember before the Mage changes me.”

Finally, Baz scoots back on the bed, rests his head on the pillows, and looks at the ceiling. I join him by taking his hand and allowing myself to rest my head on his shoulder.

“I have a shitty life story.”

“Lay it all on me.”

He chortles, which makes me smile. At least I can get a stiff laugh out of him every once in awhile.

“I lost my mum when I was five years old. You see, before the Mage was the Mage, my mum was the Headmistress at Watford, and she was a good one at that. She cared about the students and their education. She made sure almost every spellbook, every textbook was available. She wanted her students to know what they were doing and what they couldn’t do without penalty. Let me tell you, that library selection was massive.” His eyes are dreamy and the smile on his face is reminiscent.

“You remember all of that?”

“I remember all of those books. Obviously, I couldn’t read anything more than _The Magi_ c Key at the time, but I remember that Mum promised me that I could read every book in that library when I began at Watford.

“Well… one day in the nursery, there was a vampire raid.”

I can tell he’s beginning to shut down. The drunk look in his eyes is gone and his face fell to that dreaded neutral expression.

“My mum died in that raid.”

As much as I want to hug him, I don’t. But I do squeeze his hand. “Were you in the nursery?”

“Yeah, made it out.”

The emotion is gone.

And I lay there, silent.

For a while, I stare at the ceiling.

 _Is there a spell to mend a broken heart?_ Not the kind that occurs after a breakup, but the heartbreak that accumulates from family strains over time. I slap a band-aid over my baggage and call it a day. Baz, however, reacts differently than I. He’s hard and sensitive at the same time. He’s unbreakable and vulnerable all in one.

I enjoy that about him, but he doesn’t deserve to hurt like he does. He’s not bad, whether he thinks so or not.

“Baz?” I croak after a solid ten minutes.

“Hmm?” He nuzzles his long, slender nose into the top of my head.

We’re perfect right here. If I never had to move again, I’d stay in this bed with Baz forever.

“I want to make you happy.”

He doesn’t cry, but he does wrap his arms around me and buries his face into the shag that is my hair.

I don’t know what he’s doing at first, but once he sits up, he’s staring at me with a slight bit of lunacy in his eyes.

“You really want to make me happy?”

I nod hesitantly, not sure what his question entails.

“Let’s keep it at this. Distance between us. I can’t get hurt. You can’t get hurt, and when we become mortal enemies, it won’t surprise me too much when you take off my head with that sword you’re going to receive.” Baz shows no emotion and it feels like I’m right back in my flat living room, fighting over the fact that he was a “shitty” person to room with.

But this time, I’m not upset over abandonment. I’m upset over the ocean-sized distance he wants.

As far as attitudes go, he’s like a geyser. He’s patient, he’ll wait. Then he’ll lay it all on you in increments. It becomes a waiting game after that. It may take hours, or days, or weeks to see another side of him again. I, on the other hand am a river, a constantly relentless flood of a person. I speak up, I love hard, and live spontaneously.

We’re two very different people, but like polar opposites, we attract. Didn’t the crucible show him that?

“Baz, will that make you happy?” I ask, just making sure that he’s not making a mistake. But ever since yesterday, my head’s been clouded with scenarios where we did end up kissing.

What would have happened if he just leaned in?

I’m lost.

“It’s a temporary loss, Snow.” For once, his voice gets the best of him. It cracks. However, that steadiness remains on his face. “In the future, it will be better for the both of us.”

I highly doubt it. All that makes me want to do is throw myself at him and engulf him in kisses. He probably isn’t kissed enough.

But I want to see what it’s like to wait, to stand on the side and let things pass.

Maybe this will too, but the feeling of belonging will sit close to me for as long as I live.

To respect his wishes, I get up from the bed, grab the scones, and sit down on his couch. “Should we start practising?”

 

**Baz**

It’s better for us, not acting on what’s going on. As much as I don’t want to turn down advances, it’s inappropriate. Simon will be found. The Mage will change him. He’ll hate me and I’ll have to hate him back. I need to build that wall up again, the one that just tumbled. Baby steps, but for now, whatever charge there is in the air has to go away. I love my family, and Simon Snow will become our enemy. Family first.

Even if I promised to protect him.

No one keeps secrets anymore, though. Plus, blood oaths with me are dangerous and I couldn’t stand being his enemy for eternity.

I couldn’t stand hating him for the rest of time.

“Baz, should we?” he asks again. I want to snap at him, tell him to allow me to think, but I don’t have the heart.

Smoke begins to billow from Snow when I look at him and I curse under my breath. I can never understand why he’d care that much.

Instead of telling him to calm down like I should, I mutter, “Your magic is obviously working right now. Maybe you should.”

I grab the wand and toss it to him. He doesn’t look pleased with how I’m acting, but I don’t care. I can’t care anymore.

“Remember the spell?” Just as I go to sit next to him, I curb my impulse and lean against the bed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says breathlessly. After pointing the wand at the scone, he says, “ ** _Some like it hot_**!”

At first, nothing happens. The wand shoots out a few sparks.

Before Snow can be an idiot and point it at something else, however, the wand shoots off it’s magic at the pastry.

The scone catches fire.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Simon**

“You did _what_?” Penny’s voice rings through my ear, sounding almost hopeless.

“I tried to warm ups the scone and it just ignited. I nearly burnt my fingers off.” I'm in not surprised that I lit up the scone, but this whole magic business is making more and more nervous…

“Simon,” she almost whispers. “I'm coming over.”

“You have classes and are ‘illegally’ talking to me on the phone. You said you could talk through people. Why not talk through Baz or something?” I don't want her to get in trouble because of me.

Both Baz and Penelope are going to get in so much trouble because of me and it's all because they thought I was the heir.

They're going to be expelled, I know it.

“I just… you need someone. I assume Baz is being Baz?”

I don't want to talk about him right now, but…

“He's gone numb. He won't even sit on the same sofa as me.” It pisses me off that I'm so upset over this. Crowley, I'm smoking! Again.

(Also, I’m saying Crowley on instinct now.)

“What did you do?” she sounds like she's used to this.

Am I just another notch in his belt?

“Baz and I might've almost kissed last night, but… something interfered.”

She gasps.

“Sorry! Aleister Crowley, I should've waited to call!”

“No, no…” Why am I telling her this? “Don't be. We’ll never be a thing.”

I can hear Penny practically deflate. She lets out a little sad whimper.

“So when you said you don't think you're gay…”

“I don't know what I am, Penny. But I do want to know Baz and make him happy but he just shuts down like a bloody computer.” The smoke is building up, so I know I need to get out of the area unless I want to blow up the house and/or the property.

So, as I hold the phone to my ear, I make my way out of the house. I don't care who watches anymore. I'm about to be fucking brainwashed anyway.

“It's not that easy, Simon. It's really not. Don't blame yourself for how Baz is. He has a lot of inner demons that he needs to fight. Plus, he hasn't even opened up to me. I just figure things out, kind of absorb his vibe. Osmosis, kind of like.” She's saying anything to make me feel better and I'm not having it.

“Penny, I want him to be happy! He's not happy! What if I can make him happy? He seems perfectly content when I hold his hand. He even smiles, sometimes! I can count on one hand how many times I've seen him smile!”

I'm across the road from their house, I need to find a grassy field far away. I don't care if Baz is worried.

“He's guilt-ridden, Simon. He's afraid of killing people out of instinct. He feels like he's failing in protecting you. Only a few people like him. Even his dad seems disinterested in him. Baz hurts, Simon. And he can't just be nursed back to happiness. It takes time and therapy.” She’s getting angry with me, but we know who’s the actual “human ticking time bomb”.

“He cares for me! I just want to care for him, Penny. I don't care if we’re supposed to hate each other! Fuck that!” I drop in the middle of a wildflower field and lay down. The magic is radiating through me in harsh vibrations. Soon, the power will be in my chest.

“Are you crying, Simon?” The anger’s no longer in her voice. “How long have you liked him?”

Even I don't know the answer to that. And I don't know in what ways I like him.

But I cared about him since that bloody night. That bloody night I found him in that clearing similar to this field.

“I've cared for him since I found him half dead in a clearing, but I haven't felt a romantic interest in him until yesterday…” I like spontaneity, but not this way.

This is constant tension. Tension ticks me off.

As for crying, I am. And I just noticed.

“I understand why he's scared of liking you. He's afraid of being your enemy and having romantic feelings. And now that your wand is… acting awry…” Penelope’s heavy sigh gives me the shivers. “You might not be the heir. I don't know. You're definitely a magician that should go to Watford, but if you're not the heir… you're dead.”

No wonder.

“I need to go, Simon. I'll check up on you later, at night. Okay?” Penelope says. “Be careful and be smart. The Mage is currently here, so I'll keep an eye on him. Let you know if I hear anything, okay?”

“Yeah.” I can barely hear myself.

After she hangs up, I sink into my memories.

 

As soon as I caught the scone on fire, Baz left. He didn't try to put it out. He didn't give me a worried look. He walked out like he didn't care. He walked out like it was a good thing that I might be another dud.

Baz let me put it out myself. He left me for the library and didn't check on me at all. But I checked on him.

I found him at one point, playing the violin, quite beautifully, might I add. I always saw the violin perched in the library, but no one touched it. I heard and was nearly entranced, but I knew he'd yell at me to leave.

So I spared him some oxygen and hiked my way up to the room.

I took a nap, then that phone call happened.

Now I'm here, lying in a field.

Why bloody not?

 _Why not_.

Baz won’t look for me. He's probably messing with my emotions. He told me he was a bully. I didn't believe it. But now, maybe I do.

I curl myself up in the fetal position, never mind the grass. I'm knackered, sad, and lonely. And Baz isn't helping any.

For the second time today, I close my eyes and drift…

 

Until cold fingers run through my hair. I don't open my eyes. Instead, I lay there and try to ignore the touch. It feels nice against my practically blistering skin.

My polar opposite.

I want to look up. I know it's Baz. I can tell by the way he's petting my curls like I'm breakable.

_How did he find me?_

And why is he petting me?

Smoke surrounds me the moment I sit up and look at him. “Why are you doing this?!”

Baz pulls away immediately and stares at me with those weighted, grey eyes. “Doing what?”

That red film surrounds us. I'm getting pissed.

“Playing me like that violin of yours! One minute you say that there should be distance and you stalked me just to pet my hair! My feelings aren't a toy, Baz! Pick one or the blasted other!”

The minute Baz puts his hands on my shoulders, the film goes away with the sizzle of his freezing hands against my blazing shoulders. I don't know how he does that, how he calms me.

“Why did you leave?” He sits across from me, still using that neutral voice of his.

“I didn't want to blow up your house. First off, that would be a dead give away and might get your whole family in trouble.” My guard is up but my heart is on my sleeve.

“Why did you follow me?” I ask after a couple of minutes.

Baz’s eyes bore into me for a moment before he finally allows me to see something I thought I’d never see. Sheer sorrow.

“What if… what if you are a dud, Simon? What if you die? It’d be all of my fault and I don't think I could live with that, with letting you die without happiness,” Baz says, seriously fighting tears. “You messed with my head, Simon Snow. You make me do things that wouldn't do normally. I don't cry!”

A sobbing laugh rattles through Baz. He hunches over, burying his face in his hands. Both shoulders shake visibly with each laugh-cry he lets out. Then, he looks at me.

“You make me insane! I try being myself around you, but I'm always this emotional fucking wreck!”

I reach to wipe a tear from his face, but I cup his cheek instead. He places a hand over mine.

“What are you saying?” A smile pulls at my lips, I want to kiss him.

“I'm saying that we’re both confused and need a little bit of lax before making our way to hell.” Baz grabs my other hand and places on his exposed cheek. He's rarely hands on. I'm always the one that grabs. “I'm saying that I want to try and live the way you do before I'm probably expelled and you hate me or die. You deserve it.”

“No,” I say. “You deserve it.”

“Am I going to have to fight you over this?” Baz stands up when a few drops of rain fall from the sky. To my surprise, he sticks out a hand and I take it; he pulls me up and doesn't let go of my hand as he begins to head to the main road.

I’m tugged behind.

We walk through muddy dirt roads, hand in hand, in the downpour. It's cliche, everything. I wouldn't be surprised if Baz stops in the middle of the road, swoops me up in his arms, and finally kisses me.

(He doesn't.)

He does stop in the middle of the road, though. Grey eyes scan over me and he smiles, _actually_ smiles. As he does, though, his eyeteeth pop out.

They are awfully sharp.

Baz must've noticed that I was staring. He shuts his mouth immediately and keeps walking like nothing happened.

There's no way I can talk to him about _that_ observation. I know for a fact that he won't talk about his appearance. But maybe we can talk about shallow things. His favourite type of music, favourite colours, what kind of video games he likes to play if he plays any at all. That sort of thing probably wouldn't push him away, would it?

Would it?

I hope not.

We walk back the rest of the way in silence.

Once we’re on the front stoop, Baz turns to me and quietly hums. “We’re both awfully dirty. Why don't you clean us off?”

With one graceful motion, he pulls out my wand and holds it out for me to take.

“Are you crazy? I nearly burned down your bedroom!” Why is he doing this? “And we concluded that I'm probably just going to die, why bother?”

“Then we should run away. You, me, and Penelope. We can probably protect you and—”

“Baz.” I push the wand down and his hand falls to his side. “No. You will get in massive trouble, Penny too. Who am I to allow that?”

“Who am I to let you die, Simon?!” Baz throws the wand at the ground and gets close. His face is a few centimetres from mine, like that time in the wood. Just like last time, he's distraught. He's holding back. “If we run, you won't be found, you won't have to die, and we won't have to be enemies.”

“If we run, you'll get hurt, Penny will suffer, and you will lose your family’s loyalty.” I cup his cheeks. He's frozen. “No.”

“I've already lost their loyalty, Simon. Why does it matter anymore? Nothing matters.” I can feel the power in his words and how much he means them. It's a different type of magic that's buzzing through him and into my hands. Something darker.

“A lot matters.”

This discussion is over. I drop my hands from his face, grab my wand, and pray that I don't hurt myself before saying, “ ** _Clean as a whistle_**.”

It's all about the push and pronunciation of the words, which I used when trying to warm the scone. I used that push again, and it works, but I notice smoke coming from my hands.

Well.

Slipping the wand back into my pocket, I shake my hands out and grab Baz’s. I drag him in on the front mat. “You have to clean yourself off. You'd probably catch on fire if I pointed my wand at you.”

I walk upstairs.

 

It's been awhile since I've showered in the evening. Evenings are usually hectic in the Grimm-Pitch household. Dinner, siblings swinging in and out of rooms, yelling. It's a typical family home with dark, Victorian embellishments. I'm overwhelmed with almost everything, but for once, there's a bit of quiet.

I took that quiet time as a time to shower.

Baz always showers in the mornings, no matter what. But tonight, after our rainy escapade, he decided to take one as well. And as he’s in the shower, I think of him.

Mostly, I think about his appearance. No longer are they thoughts of judgement, but more of curiosity. He's a handsome boy, of course, but there are quirky things about his look. He has pitch black hair that frames his face with a harsh widow’s peak, dark grey eyes, and grey skin. Grey. He looks literally grey.

Not only that, but he has these eyeteeth that are incredibly sharp. If I touched one, it would probably make me bleed. He's tall, mysterious, and his presence demands to be noticed when he walks into a room.

There's something behind that, I know. And I've called him a blood sucker before. Different context, of course… but maybe I was right.

Before I can come up with any more theories, Baz enters the room and raises a brow when he sees me sprawled out across the bed.

“You look… comfortable.” After taking a seat on the edge, he crosses his legs and leans against the bedpost. “I was going to play some violin for you, but…”

“Can't bring your violin upstairs?” I would ask him if he was okay, but he would probably stop talking.

“Little siblings like to wander into my room. They can't wander into the library.”

They're not allowed. I learned that early.

So, we go downstairs. I get comfortable on the couch and Baz starts to play flawlessly.

As he plays, I allow that time that's he's using to focus on the violin to focus on him.

Baz definitely has the attributes of a vampire. But it's almost too much. The black hair, the eerily pale skin, the fangs.

Maybe it's just a chosen lifestyle…?

I decide not to bring it up and think of something else.

 

**Baz**

I had a night terror. Okay, more like a “nap terror”. Nap dreams are often strange, but this one felt too real.

And for once, it was about Simon. He was dying and I sat back, helpless. The Mage was watching too, allowing him to be slaughtered. He kept saying, “Come on, come on, Simon!”

But he couldn't “come on”. He was killed by the beast attacking him.

He died unhappy, unloved, and unwanted.

And I am _not_ going to act like a monster. I wouldn't let Simon die that way. I couldn't. I care too much.

I played the violin a bit to clear my mind, then went to find Simon and talk to him.

When I found that he wasn't in the house, I nearly broke down. I didn't know where he could've gone. _Maybe he did die_ , I thought. _Maybe this wasn’t all a pseudo-realistic dream_. But before I could jump to any conclusions, I felt his magic and followed it.

I found him asleep in a wildflower field. He looked so beautiful, so I ran my fingers through his hair until he woke up.

I decided that if Simon dies, I might as well give him some happiness before differences force us apart.

So, I professed that I fancied him.

Simon fancies me back, so that's established.

While we were walking back to the house, I smiled at him, which was a mistake. His eyes were on my fangs, my bloody fangs! I know that he probably wouldn't be afraid of them, but if anyone with power (other than my family) found out, I’d be dead. The Mage would kill me himself.

I hope he doesn't know. He can be thick and oblivious at times, and I hope this is one of the times.

Thankfully, the stress melts away as I play the violin, and Simon seems enchanted. I turn towards him and nod, not wanting to smile.

I finish the song with a fervorous little tune and set the violin aside. Simon looks disappointed until I join him on the couch.

“So, what are we?”

_What are we?_

“Two people that are romantically interested in each other but don't love each other yet and probably never will because in a few days or weeks one will be torn from the house and turned into a minion,” I say in one breath. “And may die.”

Simon smiles, but it turns into a downcast look. “As much as I don't want to accept that, I think I have.”

 _Ouch_.

“Every moment has to count,” he continues. “So…”

The moment he takes my hand, I get a phone call.

“Every bloody time!” Snow groans, slumping on the couch.

I quietly chuckle, but take out my phone anyway. It's Penny. She's either checking up on Simon or letting us in on some news.

“Penelope,” I mutter as soon as I answer.

“Baz,” she says, clearly worried. “Where is Simon right now?”

I glance at Simon in my peripheral. “Right next to me. Why?”

“The Mage… and the Coven… and he’s searching every single Old Family home! They raided mine!” She's breathing heavy, clearly on the edge of panic. “I think you or Agatha will be next, so _hide him_.”

In times like this, I need to be calm. For Simon, I have to be calm. As much as I want to scream and rage and knock down things and curse at the gods for taking the time away, I need stay calm.

“How do you suggest I do that, Penelope?” I sneer at her, a little bit of my inward stress barking. Simon’s hand is still in mine, so I squeeze it. He winces.

“I don't know… but I think it's time for you to talk to your family. They would know what to do.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Baz**

Telling my family would ruin everything. They would oust Simon and throw me out for sneaking around behind their back. That’s something Grimm-Pitches don’t do—be dishonest. I lied in my own home, saying Simon was my not-magickal boyfriend. None of that was true, yet I brought him home and put my family in jeopardy. They’ll be in trouble too, and it will be my fault. There are only two options to choose from: run or confess.

I want to run. Simon wants to confess.

Simon says that continuing to lie to my family will only strain my ties further, but I argued that if we ran, my family would be in far less trouble.

“Yeah, but _you_ would only be worse off. You’ll be expelled if you lead on the wild goose chase,” he tells me, sitting down next to me on the edge of the bed. “What would your family say of that?”

He’s right. Looking at it from every angle, I fucked my family over, all for the git holding my hand.

I’m an idiot.

We sit there for a while. He’s holding my hand, twiddling with my thumb, and humming softly. His voice isn’t great, but the music still helps.

However, it doesn’t help me try to push the demons away. I betrayed my family for a bloke that’ll hate me in a little less than a day. I went to great lengths to try to protect him, but I didn’t really at all. All I did was put him, myself, Penelope, and my family in danger.

 _I’m a monster_.

“Stop thinking,” Simon whispers in my ear, causing a shiver to crawl through me. The thought of his lips so close to my ear distracts me; he distracts me, puts me out of focus. This is all his fault. If he hadn’t been the person the crucible assigned me to, he wouldn’t have distracted me.

Simon is the reason we’re here, not me.

I pull my hand away from his and scoot over, putting space between us. I know he thinks that I’m playing with his emotions, but maybe it’s a good thing. I don’t deserve his care.

“We’re telling Fiona, she’ll have a better idea of what to do.” I give in.

 

**Simon**

Baz is upset. I am too. I don’t want him to move away. I want him to stay right here in my grasp, but he pushes away again.

All I can do is hang my head.

I don’t know Fiona too well, but I know that she’s batshit crazy and willful as all hell.She’s smart and dark and very interesting, so I have no doubt that she’ll know what to do.

It seems she knows that her presence is wanted. She bursts into the bedroom, staring me down. There’s a crazy look in her eye, and when she pulls my wand out, I know why.

“What the bloody hell is this?” she hisses, slamming the door behind her. “Baz!”

He looks up at her with his droopy eyes and looks back down. “We were actually about to talk to you about that.”

Fiona takes a sharp breath and exhales as fiercely. She looks unsure of how she wants to feel. Her facial expressions go from surprised to angry.

“Simon, _who_ are you?” Surprisingly, she calmly takes a seat across us on the sofa. Not surprisingly, she fidgets about, tapping her foot on the ground and wringing her hands together.

“I… was found by Baz in London. He was actually with me, that wasn’t a lie… but apparently, I’m the heir or the chosen one, or whatever that means. Is that even the same thing?” I never really knew.

“Chosen Ones save the World of Mages, not blow holes out of it like a fuckin’ nuke!” she practically yells. “You may be the Mage’s heir, but he’s no saviour of ours.” Her voice is shaky and she’s trembling. Fiona doesn’t scare. She’s _livid_.

“I-I don’t even know if I am his real heir… I’ve heard stories.” The horror stories, the stories that wind up with young, dead magicians. “I can barely even make my bloody wand work.”

“You _blew up_ London, you have an immense power, Simon!” I can tell she’s thinking because her eyes are up in the air. She’s not even bothering to look at me. “None of the boys the Mage mistook for his heir could do that. You did.”

It’s not a good thing, but Fiona makes it apparent that the Mage thinks it is.

“You created a hole in our universe. You’re clearly a strong magician, but you’re not welcomed here.”

Run.

They aren’t going to hide me.

I should’ve listened to Baz.

“As for you, Baz, we are going to have a _talk_. Let’s go, boys. And Simon, take your things.” Fiona shoots us one last look, places the wand next to me, and walks out of the bedroom. She makes sure to slam the door and I jump.

“You’re not leaving alone,” Baz says darkly, standing up. He grabs the bag I have shoved in the corner of his room. I have it packed constantly in case I had to run. Now, I do. “If you do, she’ll probably try to inhibit you.”

I’ve never heard Baz’s voice so dry, so emotionless. I’ve heard his neutral voice, but for once, it’s like I’m getting a look at how he really is on the inside.

“You’ll get in trouble if you don’t go down there with her, Baz. I don’t want you to—”

“I don’t care anymore.”

On the way down, I can’t stop looking at Baz. The way he’s carrying himself, the way he’s wringing his hands and obviously running his tongue along his teeth is off. I don’t know what he has planned, but it’s stressing me out enough to smoke a bit.

I want to hold his hands and talk him down, but I’m afraid to. What if he snaps and makes me go somewhere on my own? I wouldn’t know where to run.

That makes me wonder where he’s taking me.

I can tell that Baz is uneasy as he zooms by the houses and away from his place. He doesn’t slow down when he turns and swerves around like a drunk sod coming home from the bar. When he said he didn’t care, he meant it, and it’s making my heart race. All this stress is making me smell like a campfire and lit gun powder. I hold on to the handle above the door and pray that Baz doesn’t kill us.

 

**Baz**

_Don’t cry._

_Don’t cry._

_Don’t cry._

_I can’t do this anymore._

_I’m sorry, Father, Fiona, family._

_I'm sorry I’m a monster, Mum._

_Don’t cry._

 

**Simon**

We roll up to a vacant plot of land about an hour and a half of terrifying driving later. It looks like the land used to be occupied by a home, a big one at that. When we begin to walk around, I notice that the foundation is still in the ground, but it’s worn down over time. At first, I’m intrigued by the land, but now… I’m confused. Why are we here?

Baz is keeping his distance from me. He’s playing with a zippo and a cigarette is hanging from his mouth. I’ve never seen him smoke before.

After a minute or so, he notices me staring and walks over. Before I know it, He takes my hand and smothers the butt of the fag on my palm.

I howl in pain, pulling my hand away. For the second time today, tears roll down my cheeks.

“What the fuck was that for?!” I want to suck on my palm but I don’t want that nasty burnt taste in my mouth. It’s bad enough as it is.

Baz carelessly drops the cigarette to the ground and stomps on it with the heel of his shoe.

"For making me a bloody idiot,” he replies with a surprising amount of coolness in his voice. “For hurting me.”

What?

I’m choking, finding the words to say to reply to him. _Hurt_ him? I never recall doing anything to hurt him. We fought a bit and I punched him in the arm, but that doesn’t amount to being burned by a bloody cigarette!

I try to speak, but it comes out more as a yelp. He smiles, a sick look in his eyes. When he shows his eyeteeth, I watch them glisten in the moonlight. They look like _fangs_ , and maybe they are. But I’m not scared of that. No. What I’m terrified of are his words.

“For making me think for a second that I could be good.” He laughs. “I’m glad I realized I wasn’t falling for _you_.”

I feel crushed.

“I was falling for the idea of redemption.” He begins to pace, like he does, tapping his slender fingers together. “I could never enjoy being with someone like you.”

 

**Baz**

I don’t mean it.

I could never mean it.

I have to do this.

_I’m sorry._

 

**Simon**

What I felt for Baz was so new that I don’t know if I'm upset or not. I feel used and played, but other than that, I’m too shocked to think much else. My body reacts, though, by creating a thick, red smog around us.

I felt something, I know I did, but why am I not surprised? Am I just _that_ unlovable?

“Baz…”

“Shut up, Snow!” he sneers, getting closer, dangerously close. But this time it’s different than it was a few hours prior. All this in a day.

First, he wants space, then he wants me happy, and now he’s threatening me? My mind’s lost and I can’t think or speak. I try, but again, it comes out as a squeal.

This time, he slaps me, hard.

My knees buckle and a fall to the ground, holding my cheek.

Why?

Why, Baz?

I can feel my magic go to my chest. He’ll get hurt if he doesn’t leave me.

I could never live with hurting him, but he sure can hurt me with no remorse.

Baz falls to his knees as well, looking me in the eye with a deadly look. 

He wouldn’t kill me, right?

Before I can ask what he’s doing, he places both hands on my shoulders and shakes me like a rag doll, yelling, “Why? Why did you do this?! I hate you!”

Baz stands up again, pacing and yelling things that he couldn’t mean. (But it seems he does.) I let out a sob with each verbal infliction and beg him to stop, but he _won’t_. I beg him to leave, to go with his family, to get as far away from me as he can. I tell him I don’t want to hurt him, but it all comes out as sobby mumbles.

I hear him crying too.

He keeps muttering, “I hate you,” “You ruined my life,” “Why did you do this?”

I didn’t ask for this. _He_ found me. _He_ didn’t tell me about my magic. When I went off, _he_ brought me to his home.

I didn’t do anything.

After a while, I’m smouldering, just about to catch fire. Baz doesn’t care. He sinks to his knees, takes me in his arms, and stares me in the eyes. “You’re nothing to me.”

I explode.

 

I wake up to dawn. Stars still twinkle in the sky up above me and I can’t move.

Not only that, but I feel incredibly empty and my lungs burn.

Why?

When I sit up, I remember, and I feel my heart sink in my stomach. Last night, something big happened. Baz hurt me, broke my heart, nearly killed me with the impact of his harsh words. But here I am, staring at an empty, incinerated plot of land in the middle of nowhere.

My car, the car Baz drove down, is gone. He left me here.

I don’t know what to think or do or feel. I stand up and look around.

Everything looks dead. No cars are zooming their way down the road, birds aren’t chirping, everything is silent.

No clothes are on me when I look down. I have underwear on, but the remnants of my shirt hang off me like a scarf. I burned up, and Baz allowed me to.

My phone’s gone, my duffel is nowhere to be found, and I’m stuck in the middle of some rural land I don’t know.

So I take a seat and wince. The blast must’ve hurt me a bit this time. My backside burns like the dickens.

I still don’t know why Baz did that to me, messed with my head so much. I feel empty.

 

I don’t know how long I sit there, but I know it’s been awhile when a car finally zooms by and… parks in front of the plot I’m on. I can see the man that gets out from here. He has chestnut hair and blue eyes you could see from a kilometre away. Above his thin lip sits an even thinner moustache.

He’s clad in formal wear: a blazer, trousers, and a scarf to mask him from the early November air. The mysterious man spots me and smiles, and in the blink of an eye, he’s standing above me.

“You’re Simon, right?” The question almost makes me shiver.

“Yeah.” I look away.

“Stand up and look at me,” he says. I do.

The man’s smile grows when we make eye contact. He looks so genuinely happy to meet me. Is anyone actually interested in me, though? After a few days, I’ll probably be useless to him.

As if he can read my thoughts, he frowns. “Do you know who I am?”

I shake my head and he looks surprised.

“I’m the Mage, and I’ll be taking you to Watford School of Magicks as my heir. You are The Chosen One.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Baz**

“ ** _Open sesame_**!”

The dining hall doors open, and everyone stares at me like I'm a stranger.

I am to some of them. To others, I'm a monster. To that bronzey curled, freckle-faced boy sitting with Penelope Bunce and Agatha Wellbelove, I’m the devil.

That's just how things are meant to be.

It's been near three months since I've been here. The first two were spent on the bloke sitting with my old friends. The last one was here, but I didn't bother being around others, and now, now that Simon Snow is out of his intense training sessions with the Mage, he's here too.

He made his entrance last night, actually. I was sitting on my bed, doing my homework, when Snow entered my room and I noticed him at once. _He was different._

There was a hostile look in his eyes and he looked just about ready to jump me, but the anathema would throw him out if he tried.

I wish he would’ve tried.

But instead, he sat on his bed, pulled out his own work, and began doing it. I noticed that he would glance over at mine from time to time, and when he did, I would tilt the papers away. If I hadn't told him he was nothing, if I hadn't made him blow up, if I hadn't made him hate me, maybe I would’ve been weak. Maybe I would’ve slipped onto the floor and helped him. I noticed that we had the same course work.

There was no way Simon Snow could have caught up without a little help.

Now that I think about it, this is something I could mention to my family and the Coven.

(I won't.)

I make my way between the tables and find Dev and Niall. I don’t even try with the lot sitting across the way. They won't talk to me anymore and I don't blame them.

_I'm wicked._

A smirk grows on the boys’ faces as I take a seat across them. “So, anything important happen while I was gone?”

Dev nods, Niall is glancing over my shoulder.

“They found the new Chosen One. Don’t know where I’ve ever seen the git before,” Niall says.

“Must be the genuine thing because he blew up a school _and_ a field in some rural town,” adds Dev.

“He’s probably dangerous, that one,” Niall continues over Dev, but I don’t hear what else they say.

I spare a quick glance over my shoulder and find Agatha sitting comfortably close to Snow. He’s in the middle of eating a scone and Wellbelove seems to be lapping up the new-found fame Snow has. The Chosen One, a real one at that apparently. From what stirs in the air, Simon has bypassed the Mage’s physical tests, most of them involving blowing something up or catching an object on fire. There’s even a rumour going around that he has a sword, the Mage’s sword, and he’s awful good at using it…

I can only imagine what he could actually do with the bloody thing. I wring my neck at the thought and direct my attention to the boys in front of me. They’ve moved on from Simon Snow to football. I half-heartedly pay attention.

 

Snow is in my Greek class. He didn’t know what he was doing today. His eyes were on the teacher, but the way he was tapping his pencil on the table and jittering his leg showed just how much he was actually listening. His mind was somewhere else. I mean, mine was as well, but I pick up different languages easily.

He’s in my Elocutions class as well, and my Magic Words class. He sits next to me in that one, and all during that period, I could feel him try to suppress his magic. It hit me like waves, and it felt as if I could almost absorb the magic, but he eventually gave up when Ms. Possibelf had us practise the words we’d learned.

Snow could tell that I didn’t trust him with that wand of his. (I still don’t know how Penelope didn’t get in trouble for switching it out with a dud.) He sported a cocky grin as he pulled it out.

“You don’t want me to hurt you, do you?” Snow said to me. If he had a couple fewer brain cells, he probably would’ve waved the wand around like a toy, but he didn’t, thankfully. No, he kept it still in his hands.

That was a blow regarding the month before, but I dismissed that.

Instead, I rolled my eyes at him, muttering something like, “You don't scare me.”

Even under that harsh side, I know that Simon Snow is still there. Under that harsh, hateful facade, he could never hurt me willingly. Even though he hates me, he probably couldn’t hurt anything unless it was a serious threat.

That gives me the upper hand. I _can_ hurt him if I want to, and now that Simon hates me, I don’t have to worry about hurting his feelings.

Those probably left the moment I ruefully stranded him.

 

After school, I went straight to the turret. It took about an hour to do my homework, and thirty minutes after, Simon wandered into the room and started on his own.

He’s still trying to work on it, and he’ll turn to me every once in awhile but turns away before he can ask me a question.

After he does this again, for the fiftieth time, I say, “How’s the silent treatment working so far?”

Finally, he looks me in the eye and sets his work aside. Again, it looks like he wants to pummel me, but he refrains. The Mage must’ve told him the ground rules of living with a roommate… or maybe he learned that from living in foster care all of his life.

“I have nothing to say.”

I laugh dryly. “That’s a lie, Snow. A bad one.”

I _know_ when he has nothing to say.

“How would you know?” he asks, scooting closer to the edge of his bed.

 _Because I know you_ , I want to say.

“Your nose twitches when you lie.” (That works too, I guess.) I picked up on that when he lied to my parents almost every day he was at Hampshire.

Snow touches his nose self-consciously, then crosses his arms. “No, it doesn’t.”

Just like clockwork, his nose twitches.

“You did it again.” I lean back against my pillows and grab a book from the table between me and Simon’s bed.

Dracula…

_Really, Snow?_

“Why does it matter if I have something to say?” he growls, literally. I don’t know what I did to anger Snow so much. Maybe it was because I picked up his book, but that’s not all that offensive.

(Dracula, _really_?)

“It doesn’t.” I shrug and set the book back in its respective place on the bedside table.

“Of course _you_ wouldn’t actually care.” Simon huffs, then goes back to doing his homework.

I still want to know how in the world he managed to land a place in year eight, but that question will have to remain unanswered, unasked. He doesn’t need to know I’m curious, even though I want to ask him everything that happened.

I want to ask him why his flames didn’t take me.

 

Snow finally finishes his homework late at night, almost too late for me to be able to sneak out and grab a bite in the catacombs and maybe even visit my mum. I like to do that, and I haven’t since I left Watford for holiday.

There are two options as to when I can sneak out: as Snow takes a shower or when he’s _asleep_.

The latter seems smarter, but I would much rather leave as soon as possible so I can return as soon as possible.

That’s what I do. After grabbing his pyjamas and underdrawers, he heads for the bathroom. I book it to the door as soon as I hear him lock the stall.

 

It’s glaringly obvious that I haven’t been to the catacombs in a while. The minute I stepped in, rats scurried everywhere.

Rats aren’t the tastiest to live off of, but when you try and hide your vampirism from the world, they’re the easiest to chase after. I could go to the wood and find a deer, but I don’t know what could be lurking around these days. I know there’s an occasional were-creature, unicorns (I could _never_ take blood from a unicorn), and Normal animals.

As much as I’m a Normal snob, their animals are usually the best-tasting.

For once in a long while, I feel full off of a rat feeding. This past month, I’ve been living off of merwolves (I left the turret for two things only: feeding and studies). Murky and disgusting, but it got the job done.

Rats are a luxury compared to merwolves and I’m glad I’ve finally come down.

Now, for more pressing matters.

I shove myself up from the ground and take a deep breath. As much as it hurts to visit her, it hurts more to act like she wasn’t there for me. I know she would want me dead, I know that I’d be a disappointment, but I have to visit her. She was one of the greatest heads of Watford of all time. She was fair, uncensored, and cared for all of her students. She deserves respect no matter what. That, and I love and miss her to bits.

Almost like I’m spelled to do it, I fall to my knees and lower my head once I’m in front of her tomb.

_I would be in here with her if I wasn’t rescued, if I hadn’t Turned._

The thought haunts me sometimes, the idea of being dead, of not being a vampire.There’s some bitter-sweetness in thinking about it. I would’ve died knowing my mother loved me. I could be with her wherever she is. I wouldn’t have to suffer every day, knowing that if I was outed as a vampire, the entire school would turn on me, Simon Snow at the head of the mob with that new sword of his.

He wouldn’t want to hurt me, but he would want to make the Mage happy, so he would gladly kill me if it put a smile on the devil’s face.

Anything for the Mage.

I don’t realize I’ve rested my head on my mother’s tomb until my eyes fall to the dead bouquet of flowers on the ground.

“ ** _April showers_** ,” I say with the flick of my wand and watch them bloom.

A smile pulls on my lips, but it doesn’t last long as I rest my head back on the cold stone of the grave.

I don’t want to leave and I don’t have any desire to until I hear footsteps.

No one ever winds up down here, so I freeze when I hear the footsteps get closer. For a second, they stop, and whoever it is says, “ _Blood sucker._ ”

Simon.

Now that he’s the Mage’s trinket, he would probably go up to him immediately if he found me. So, I quickly cling to the wall and hope the shadows hide me.

He steps into view and I hold my breath. No movements, no sound, no breathing.

Simon goes to do a sweep of the room, but before his eyes can fall on the shadows, they focus on what’s in front of him: my mum’s tomb.

“Natasha Pitch,” he says out loud, crouching in front of her epitaph. “One of the most widely loved heads of Watford… also one of the most selective.”

There’s no judgement in how he speaks. He sits down in front of her.

“Would I be here if you were the headmistress? Would you have sought me out?” He laughs sadly. “I don’t understand why the Mage wants me. I suck at everything I do, and I am _seven_ years behind.” Simon sighs. “ _Seven_. But he wants me anyway, he wants me to defeat something or a group of people. I don’t know yet. I do know that I’m not ready… to fight _or_ die. But he has this trust in me that no one else has ever given me. Is that how he does it, how he manipulates people?”

It’s like he’s expecting her to answer.

“Because it’s working. I hate it. I try to keep my head even. But it’s not working. I want to keep things straight, but when I’m looking at things the way the Mage does, which is almost always now, I can’t. I just… can’t. I’m losing a war with myself, Mrs. Pitch. I’ve practically already lost it.

“And what about your son, about Baz? Where would he be if you survived the raid? Would he be dead? I’m pretty sure he’s a vampire. I’ve been studying them very closely—”

_ Dracula _ _is not the place to start… at all._

“—and he has the characteristics. I mean, I found dead rats all around! He has to be… Or maybe he’s living that lifestyle that some do, you know? Some people act like vampires, never go outside, drink blood, the whole lot. I wouldn’t put that past him. But he’s a monster, whatever he is. Would he still be walking around…”

I’m a monster, from the mouths of babes, I’m a monster.

I don’t know why hearing it from Simon Snow shocks me so much, but it still feels like a figurative dagger to the heart.

I don’t want to be a monster. I’ve never wanted to be, but what else could I be? I either try to accept the fact or push it away. Just earlier, I thought I accepted it, I thought I was okay. But now, hearing Simon Snow say that he _does_ think I’m a monster or the devil, I’m not so sure how to feel.

Quickly, I rush out of the catacombs. Snow must’ve been too deep in thought because I don’t hear him chasing after me.

 

Just as I’m about to fall into a deep slumber, Snow slams our bedroom door open and turns on the light.

“I’m trying to sleep, you barbaric sod!” I sneer, pulling the covers over me as he opens the turret window.

“I didn’t think you had to sleep.” He turns off the lights and crawls into bed.

What a bloody idiot.

“I'm an eighteen-year-old student, Snow. Why in the hell wouldn't I sleep?” Vampires don't have to sleep as much, but they still require it. Now I'm up and pissed.

Simon Snow pisses me off.

There's a look of hesitation in Snow’s eyes as he sits up on his bed and stares at me. “I… don't know.”

His nose bloody twitches.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks for waking me up, Snow.” If I'm tired tomorrow, I don't care.Whatever. I sit up on the bed and look at the fictional book of vampires again. “What's up with this?” Grabbing Dracula, I hold it up.

Snow’s eyes widen and they _glisten_ in the moonlight. “Just some reading. Vampires interest me, so I just wanted to study them a bit…”

“There must be _tonnes_ of water in your brain if you think _this_ ,” I hold the book up, “will teach you anything about vampires. There's a whole library in the school.”

“I… know. I just didn't know if there would be vampire books after…” Snow itches the back of his neck. “They're dark creatures, considered monsters even, and—”

“Not all of them,” I huff, surprising myself as I lay back down. (I’m probably saying this to start an argument, I can’t help it anymore.) “I may be speciest, but not all vampires are terrible. Not all pixies are terrible—except Trixie—not all…” I don't know how to continue. So, I wrap it up by saying, “Just check the library. I'm sure they have _something_ about vampires if you're so interested.”

“Your mum was killed by vampires… why _don't_ you have a thing against them?”

I spring over onto his bed and pin him down by the shoulders to his mattress. I won't hurt him, I'm not allowed to. “Talk about my mum again, Snow. I dare you!” I yell in his face.

Unlike a month ago, there’s no fear in his eyes.

“If there wasn't an anathema keeping me from roughing you up, I most certainly _would_ ,” I sneer, getting closer to his face. “You _do not_ mention my mother. It's why I didn't want to tell you _shit_ in Hampshire. I knew you would spew like this.”

I shove myself off him and lay back down. I turn from him, pulling the dozens of sheets over my body. I don't want Snow to think that he can intimidate me, but the mere mention of my mother upsets me.

I guess I have mummy issues.

 

As I drift to sleep, my mind falls on Simon. Simon Snow. I shouldn't have told him about my mum. He knows these things about me that he’ll use against me, but I'll just have to fight back.

As much as I don't want to fight Simon Snow, I know that he no longer means nice. Whatever there was, it's gone, and will most likely never return. It's my fault, I know. But I had to do it for him, for my friends, and for my family. But somehow I wish I hadn't.

I may be wicked and evil and cruel, but deep down, I still feel my heart beat for Simon Snow.

I think I _love_ him. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Baz**

Snow is up when I exit the bathroom the next morning, and he’s already dressed but he doesn’t look all there. Dark, purple circles accentuate the bags under his eyes and he’s yawned at least twice since I began to stare at him. I haven’t any idea why he looks so exhausted, but I don’t bother to ask. It doesn’t affect me in the slightest.

“I was up all night reading,” he decides to announce to my surprise. “You know, Dracula.”

Between provoking me or actually sharing any sort of knowledge, I’m sure it’s the first of the two possibilities.

I choose to ignore him, making sure I have all of my books in order before sitting down on my bed. Instead of going down to the dining hall today, I want to actually eat. I’m not allowed to play any footie during games, but there’s practice after school and it’s mandatory I go. Maybe today will be the day I actually get to practise with the team and not run laps or any of those ridiculous warmups the whole two hours. So, it’s important I fuel up today.

As I pull out napkin-fulls of food I nabbed from the dining hall earlier in the morning, I expect Simon to take his things and go to the hall. He doesn’t. Instead, he tries to reach over and grab a sausage from my stash. I swat his hand and send him a glare in response.

“Why don’t you get your own, you royal pain?” I sneer, taking a bite and routinely cover my mouth with my free hand.

“You have a lot,” he replies, trying to take another. I shove his hand away and swallow my bite.

“I need to load up on energy today,” I say coolly, taking another bite.

“For what?” I swear I can see Simon’s eyes flash to the book on the nightstand.

In response, I take the paperback and throw it, hard, against the wall.

“ _Baz_!” Simon groans, going after it.

“Snow!” I yell back, swallowing another bite. “Stop vexing me and go to the bloody dining hall to eat… Crowley, you’re being annoying! What do you think you’re doing anyway, asserting dominance?”

As Simon flips through his retrieved book, he shrugs.

That doesn’t answer my question, but _fine_. He’s gone from being silent to completely, unbearably annoying. I wonder why.

Snow doesn’t move at all as I eat, but he does go back to reading Dracula. From time to time, he looks up at me and gives himself a little nod, and goes back. He does this like he _knows_ I’m watching and I know exactly what he’s trying to imply.

By the fifth or sixth time he does this, I take the book and threaten to tear it down the spine. “Stop looking at me like that!’

“Like what?” Snow growls back. “I’m _studying_.”

“I’m not a vampire!” Total lie, but I like to ignore that I am until it becomes glaringly obvious.

“Who said I said you were?” He tries to snatch the book, but I stand, putting distance between him and Dracula.

“You keep surveying my looks, Snow! I know how you are.” I go to allow him to take the book back, but as he goes to grab for it, I hold it back in the air. “If I were a vampire, why in Merlin’s name would I look so obviously like one?” I cock a brow.

Sadly, I look like the most obvious type of vampire. Dark hair, grey skin, dark eyes. Not to forget my sharp widow’s peak. That is the dead ringer give away. Not to mention that my fangs like to say hello at the most annoying times. But he can’t hold that against me until he has proof and he hasn’t seen me feed off of anything thus far.

Snow slouches, giving up on the book. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll go down to the dining hall if you give me my book.”

Bargaining, really?

“I have to see you walk down the stairs.”

Simon groans all the way to the door, steps out of the room, and holds out his hand. “The book.”

I survey how close he is to the door and shake my head. “A few more steps backwards.”

Once he does so, I throw the book at him and slam the door shut, making sure I’m as noisy as possible when it comes to locking the door.

 

**Simon**

Baz is silent on the other side of the door and I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. I know we’re supposed to hate each other now, but I don’t think I really, truly do. We’re definitely rivals, the Mage made that much clear. Plus, I saw how Baz was while I was training with the Mage. He would cast little prankish, bully spells on innocent year sevens and they would trip up on their trousers. He even lit some girl’s cloak on fire—that was the day Penny and Agatha stopped meandering around him. She was fine, but Baz got detention. He got out early on good behaviour, but that put a bad taste in my mouth.

Back in Hampshire, he said he was a bully. I could tell he was, but lighting someone’s clothes on fire? Really?

After Penny stopped hanging with Baz, she and Agatha visited my temporary quarters one night. I was in the Mummers House, but in a cold, musty, isolated room not guarded by any spells or magick. It was more of an attachment to the building, actually. But they visited and that was when Agatha first looked at me with a timid smile on her face.

It’s blatantly obvious that she likes me. She hangs off of my arm at any given chance. I think I like her back, actually, and earlier today, I asked her out. She said yes. So, I’ll be going to the Winter Solstice Ball with her (which is in little over a month and before term is over instead of on the actual solstice). Also, I may or may not go to her house over Christmas holiday. It’s somewhere, and I would much rather go somewhere than stay here, lonely. Not many people stay on Watford grounds and I don’t know if the Mage will even be here during the break. The only reason I’m in mainstream classes is because he had to go check out some field sites with Professor Bunce, Penny’s father. More and more holes seem to be showing up in the magickal map, and they’re surveying the areas. So far—in regards to classes—I’m completely lost. However, I’m too prideful to ask Baz for help.

Speaking of Baz, I still haven’t any idea of what he’s doing, until he bangs on the door.

I scuffle back and he snickers. So, I decide that it’s finally my time to leave.

Penny and Agatha are at the ground level when I finally make it down the stairs. They’re outside the door, of course, but they’re still waiting for me. Agatha holds a hand out for me and I take it.

(Nothing feels right about holding her hand, but I do it because she has a pretty smile.)

“I never got to ask how your first day of school was,” Agatha spoke in a lovely whisper.

I want to tell her that it was fine, that I did well in all of my classes (a lie), I made a lot of new friends (a lie), and that I didn’t think of Baz at all (actually, I stalked him into the catacombs and had a heart to heart with his mother). But what Baz said about my nose twitching and all made me self-conscious.

So, I tell the truth and say, “Bloody awful.”

We all sit under the yew trees once we reach them. Penny’s on one side, gazing over my wand, and Agatha is on the other, holding my hand in a tight grip.

“Was Baz being an arse to you in any of the classes we didn’t all share?” Penny asks, all of her focus going into the detail of the wand. (She’s seeing if there’s any trouble with my wand since it’s acting up so terribly. I can just about do nothing other than start fires with the thing.) (Cleaning myself off that one time just so happened to be a happy accident.)

I want to answer, tell her that he wasn’t bothering me per say, but before I can, a guttural growl rolls through the great lawn and several shrill screams erupt in response.

I look back, but Penny covers my eyes and says, “ _Do not look._ I’ll get us back to the courtyard.”

Whatever it is must be ghastly because I don’t think I’ve ever heard Penny so terrified. I want to ask, but I don’t when I see it slither by.

A Basilisk.

In the very brief but informative lesson about evil creatures, the Mage mentioned this giant beast. It is basically a huge snake that can kill you with a single glance. There are procedures for students to follow when evil creatures find their way to Watford grounds and that’s for higher years to grab lower years and magick them behind the inner gates. Penelope goes to help me, but I nudge her away.

Pushing Agatha behind me, I anxiously hold my hand over my hip and mutter the magic words of the incantation until the Sword of Mages appears. By now, the serpent is heading right towards the yew trees and there are still students, stuck in fright. Penny acts quick by gathering them but she isn’t fast enough.

The serpent is now at full speed, and I don’t know else to do, so I hold the sword out horizontally and close my eyes, bracing myself for impact.

Surprisingly, the giant snake barrels into the sword and lets out a  blood-curdling hiss. It stops long enough for me to climb onto its back and pull the sword from its eye.

“Penny, leave!” I yell at her and Agatha and all of the other, younger magicians before the serpent begins to slither around at a speed that nearly knocks me off.

I haven’t any idea of what I’m doing, I could get expelled or killed doing this. I don’t know which is worse. But I manage to find my footing and stand on the back of the Basilisk.

Before I was a barista, I was a waiter (for just long enough to know how to balance rather well). I think that’s paying off, but I have no doubt that if I wait any longer, I’ll fall off. It’s now or never, so I jump up, forward, and to the right, holding the sword out as I aim for decapitating the beast.

At first, I don’t know if I do. I must’ve knocked the wind out of me from belly flopping onto the grass. But as I sit up and see the mucus covering me, I realize that I did it.

I _actually_ killed the Basilisk.

The sword took it’s head straight off.

“Simon Snow!” A shrill but concerned voice yells from across the lawn. I’m too stunned to turn around, but I know it’s Ms. Possibelf.

“Simon Snow, you could’ve been killed!” she yells, pulling me up to my feet.

I let out a drawn out breath and look her in the eyes. “B-but I didn’t.”

Instead of replying to me, she points that walking stick at me and says, “ ** _Clean as a whistle_**.” She goes on by saying, “You can really clean off later, but we’re gathering in the White Chapel for an assembly.

 

I think Baz did it. The reasoning may be stupid, but I think it was him. After all, he made it quite clear that he’s not afraid to hurt me.

First off, the thing is called a _Basilisk_. His full middle name is Basilton. Coincidence?

Secondly, he’s not even at the assembly. He must’ve been plotting to hurt me and that’s why he kicked me out….

Now, I have a reason to hate him. And I do. He tried to _kill_ me.

“Simon, you’re fuming,” Penny whispers in my ear, and Agatha grabs my hand as she does. She must not be used to heat because she jumps but continues with holding my hand.

“I know,” I mutter angrily, watching all the teachers gather and close the doors to the White Chapel. Still no sign of Baz and the whole school must be here.

“What are you thinking?” Penny says, and I feel too angry to answer.

(I do anyway.)

“Baz did it. He fucking summoned the thing. He’s not here because he did and is probably getting expelled… and he’s a vampire.” I don’t know why I add the “vampire” thing, but both Agatha and Penny give me a sideways look.

“Simon, Baz can be bad but he would _never_ try to hurt or kill anyone,” Penny tries to quietly reason. “He’s a bully, not an assassin in the making. Plus, the vampire thing… why?”

She didn’t deny it, so it must be true.

“Students!” A voice suddenly carries through the chapel. The hushed speaking dies immediately and all attention turns to Ms. Possibelf, who is wearing a very concerned look on her face.

“Thank you,” she says. “The reason you were brought here and are not in class is that there is a very serious threat to the magickal world and it’s time that you all know what it is.

“As we all know, there have been attacks against Watford and the World of Mages over the years and it’s been studied long and hard by many of our top professors. After today, the Mage and the Coven have come to a conclusion to share the news.

“There’s a being behind these attacks. Each attack, each raid, was initiated by this _thing_ and we will now refer to it as the Insidious Humdrum. It brings loss of magic and hurt to the world, and if we don’t get to the bottom of it, our world as we know it will disappear.

“The Mage himself cannot kill this monster, but there is someone, a young mage that joined us a month or so ago.

“Simon, if you could please stand?”

The room is silent as I stand up. Hundreds of eyes are on me and suddenly, I’m self-conscious. I pull on the collar of my shirt and make eye contact with my Magic Words teacher.

“This young man single-handedly took down a Basilisk. He had no help.

“As we know, over the years, we have lost several magicians in thoughts of them being the true heir, but this young man, this Simon Snow, has proved himself worthy. We will be safe because of him.”

The chapel is filled with applause and I awkwardly sink back down into my seat.

There goes my theory on Baz summoning the Basilisk.

Where in the bloody hell is he?

 

**Baz**

Simon’s been following me around all day. I don’t know if he realizes that I’ve noticed, but I have, and I’m making the best of it.

At lunch, while he was being bombarded with questions about being the just _truly_ publicized Chosen One, he made a point to make dead eye contact with me. He would only glance away for split seconds to be polite to the person talking to him, then would look right back at me. I think he’s convinced that I had something to do with it, but really, I was writing down all the Normal book shoppes I know around Penelope’s house so I can go and buy out all of the fictional vampire books and burn them. (I’m afraid of what Snow is going to bring up next.)

So, as Snow stared at me, I stared back with equal intensity.

The day got stranger, though, and that’s when it got better.

The bastard literally followed me everywhere.

To my classes, to the dining hall, I even went to the restroom to see if he would follow and he _did_.

So, after school and before football practice, I decided to do some walking and as I did, he hid behind fountains and students and trees, thinking I didn’t see him.

But I did.

And I still see him standing behind a tree near the Wavering Wood, watching me with a certain amount of intent.

“What an odd bird,” Dev says as he approaches me, staring in the direction of Simon. I swing him around to keep him from making it obvious that I was staring back.

“He wants attention, leave it be and he’ll go away,” I tell Dev quietly. Then, I go back to my line taps.

Eventually, after a while of watching behind a tree, Simon sees someone and walks around. It’s Agatha, just Agatha, standing on the other side of the pitch with a smile on her face.

I look over at Simon and he’s smiling back, may even be _blushing_. I stop in my tracks, lift my arms up, and rest my hands on the top of my head as I watch them. My breathing gets a little heavier and a bit uneven when I see him kiss her cheek.

She takes his hand.

“Heads up, Pitch!”

The football hits me square in the face and I stumble back.

 

Later that evening and before I can go off to feed, Simon walks into the room with a grin on his face. He doesn’t even bother looking at me as he dodders to the bed and collapses, resting both hands over his heart. I can feel his magic spill all over the place.

I can already tell that it has to do with Agatha, and it revolts me. So, I decide it’s the best time to leave. The gates haven’t closed yet and I drained the catacombs last night. That leaves merwolves and the Wavering Wood, and for once, I’m choosing the latter. I slip a Watford jumper on and shove my feet into some trainers before leaving.

Mist blows out of my nose with each breath I take. I probably look like a dragon, but I feel the opposite. I’m bloody freezing and want to go back inside, but I need blood. The Wavering Wood looks intimidating, but I’m a vampire magician, so I push any buds of worry aside and begin to make my way through.

It’s like nothing lives here when I know things clearly do, but the wood is so quiet and still and suddenly, my lungs burn like they did when I was in the dead spot in London.

Since when did the Wavering Wood get a dead spot?

I glance to my right when I hear a rustle of leaves and thank Morgana when a deer pops its head out of some frosted, high grass. It doesn’t smell were-ish, so I’m quick to attack it and begin to feed.

“Well, well, well,” _his_ voice says behind me mid-drain.

_No, no, no!_

I turn around and see Simon standing there, but something’s off. I don’t know what. I don’t feel his magic either, but it’s surely because of the dead spot.

“I will _end_ you if you tell anyone. I’ll summon another Basilisk if I have to,” I sneer.

Simon looks amused.

“I know that wasn’t you.” He takes a seat next to me and grimaces at the blood.

The closer he gets, the more my lungs sting. Maybe the lack of magic makes Simon’s high power turn into high nothingness. But it wasn’t that way before…

“Then why were you following me around all day?” I awkwardly lean against the dead deer.

A blush seems to take over Snow’s oddly pale face and he looks into my eyes. “I must admit… I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

My dead heart stops.

_What?_

“I want to be with you, Baz.”

His voice is so lulling… I lean closer.

“ _But…_ ”

My eyes open and I’m looking dead into them. They’re peculiarly dull.

“What, Simon?”

“We have to pretend that we hate each other. For the Mage. For our friends. For Watford and your parents.” He sadly sighs. “So, only at night we have the world to ourselves. Only in hidden. We can’t do this on Watford grounds, even in our room.”

I don’t know what to think, what to say, how to react.

“What about Agatha?” I whisper.

“She’s a pretty girl, she deserves to smile. But it means nothing. Please, Baz.”

The longing look in his eyes shoves me in a position of submission. I look down and mutter, “Yes.”

“Perfect.”

With that, Simon gets up and walks out of the wood.

 

Sure enough, as soon as I walk into the dorm, Simon shoots me a glare. I hide the smile, the buzz that’s rolling through me, as I take off my jumper and trainers. I shove both of them into my wardrobe and climb into bed.

“Why are _you_ so happy?” Simon laughs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy before.”

I roll my eyes and settle into my bed. That blasted Dracula book is on resting on his chest, and to my surprise, fucking Twilight is sitting on the nightstand, waiting to be read.

_You know that I’m a vampire. Why are you still bothering when you could ask me in the Wavering Wood tomorrow?_

(Don’t talk about it, Baz.)

“Like you wouldn’t know,” I mutter sleepily, somewhat drunk on the feeling of happiness. It rarely comes around.

Simon growls under his breath, so I take that as my cue to shut up and finally go to sleep. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Simon**

It's been a couple of days since Baz returned that night looking like an absolute buffoon. He looked drunk and _happy_ and out of place because I have never seen Baz Pitch act that way, but whatever it was, it must've been good.

I don't have any idea why he would be so happy. I mean, I know why _I_ was before he left.

I had my first kiss.

I'm eighteen and that night, I finally had my first kiss.

Agatha and I were walking around the courtyard—after the Basilisk incident, we had to give it a day or so before we could go back on the great lawn—and swung our hands as we walked along. We came to the fountain, and when we sat down, our heads accidentally bumped into each other. She laughed and her smile was so beautiful that I couldn’t help but lean in and kiss her. It was awkward, but soft. And it was nice.

My was heart racing, puppy love overruling my senses. And I wasn’t going to let Baz ruin my happiness. I was glad when he left, but when he returned, basically floating across the bedroom, I became curious. Maybe he came up with a dastardly plan. Maybe he was plotting my death since he was able to blame the Basilisk on this new… thing. The Humdrum.

So far, nothing has happened except… he seems happy, genuinely happy, and it’s awfully fishy.

For the past few days, I’ve been following him around rather closely. When he goes down to breakfast, I do. I give him at least three paces before me when we walk to class. When he’s on the pitch, I sit in the shaded outskirts of the Wavering Wood. He’s focused, but he’s not. And he disappears for a good two hours every night and returns, almost giddy from some newfound excitement. He stopped noticing the fictional vampire books laying around.

Tonight, I’m following him to wherever he goes for those two hours. No one is going to stop me, not even the Mage. (He’s not here, anyway.)

Penny must have noticed that I’m staring at the back of Baz’s head with an intense stare. She shoves me, and I pull my attention back to her… and my girlfriend.

It’s strange to think of Agatha as my girlfriend.

“Would you pay attention to the people that actually care about you for a minute?” Penny shoots me a look, so I look back at the girls.

“Before you took a trip to Baz Lala Land, I was saying that I think we should go to my house over the weekend, do some surveys at those new holes. A couple popped up about two weeks ago. That’s why the Mage isn’t here at the moment.” She looks at me, then at Agatha. “If you two could keep your hands off of each other, I’d like both of you to come.”

I hesitate to answer. I look back at Baz and he’s staring at me. He quickly looks away and hunches over the tiny bit of food he has.

This whole ordeal is beginning to piss me off. Why is he so happy?

“Simon, you’re fuming,” Agatha suddenly says, bringing me back to my senses. She looks a little deterred, so I squeeze her hand in comfort.

“Sorry, I’m just worried that Baz is coming up with something… He’s so damn happy.” I quickly glance over. He is looking at me _again_. I growl under my breath.

“Maybe… he’s _just_ happy?” Penny cocks a brow and looks over as well. He’s not staring anymore.

“He’s planning my demise,” I say warily, gulping down my milk.

“Simon, _really_?”

“He’s _never_ happy!” I yell, hushing the dining hall. _Everyone_ is staring at me, including Baz. He’s _blushing_. I’ve never seen him blush. It’s eerie looking with how pale and grey his skin is…

He knows we’re talking about him, and he raises a benevolent brow at me.

I cock my head in response.

Suddenly, someone screams and my reflexes react. I go to say the incantation, but Penny pulls my hand from my side and points to the large main doors.

There’s a glimmering person floating about and he looks like I could be related to him. He looks to be a first or second year and it clicks.

He was the first heir.

Its…or _his_ ghostly eyes fall on me and with the blink of an eye, he’s in front of me, going to say something. Before he can, however, he begins to fade from view.

I blink, then look at Penny.

“The Veil’s lifting!” she cheers, looking at Agatha. “It’s lifting.”

“What’s the Veil?” I ask, shoving a scone into my mouth.

“The Veil, well, it keeps the dead from the living. But every twenty years, usually on the Autumnal Equinox, it lifts. I know it’s far past the equinox… but… I guess it…” Penny shakes her head, seeming unsure of how to explain it. “People thought that maybe some Old sorcerer cursed the Veil shut… but maybe it was the Humdrum! And…” Penny groans. “This makes no sense. Why would it begin to thin out _now_?”

“Maybe someone has something important to say _now_ ,” Agatha suggests, leaning against my arm. “I mean, now that Simon is here, now that Simon Snow, the true Mage’s heir is here, there’s a reason for it to force open.”

Who would want to talk to me, though? I haven’t got a family.

“It’s the Mage,” someone says suddenly, taking a seat across from us.

Baz.

“Why in the hell would it be the Mage?” I growl, leaning forward slightly. I catch a glance of one of the teachers on patrol and lean back slightly, but still stare Baz down.

“Warnings. He knew the past ‘heirs’ would try to contact you or whoever would be in your place currently to tell you to get the hell away from him.” Baz shrugs.

Why is he suddenly being so… nice? I’m suspicious. Maybe _he_ is behind it. Maybe _he_ is in cahoots with the Humdrum.

But why would he be over here with us if it is him?

I’m bloody lost.

“Why should I get away from him anyway?” I grunt, crossing my arms. “He’s like the father I never had.”

Baz hopelessly sighs, then eyes Agatha.

“Simon,” he whispers.

I forgot how gracefully my first name could roll off his tongue.

Stop, Simon. _Stop_.

“He taught me a lot of what I know when it comes to magic.”

“Hey!” both Baz and Penny yell.

Okay, they did too, but the Mage literally put seven years of missed knowledge into my head. (I’m not allowed to tell anyone that, but it happened.)

“I’m not trying to discredit you, _Penny_.” Baz taught me more than she did, but we’re not on good terms.

“I told you that you’re actually magic and you’re going to act like I didn’t have anything to do with you?” Baz asks, sounding somewhat hurt.

Why is he hurt? He doesn’t care.

Whatever is making Baz so excited is making him a softy, or maybe he’s just being nice to make me less suspicious. _Not_ going to work.

I can tell I’m on edge when I notice a bit of smoke rising from me. It would be smart to remove myself from the situation and get away from people, but I’m stuck in a stare down.

“What’s it to you, Baz? We hate each other.” I want to say that it’s our job, hating each other, but if I said that, it would sound… like I cared, I guess.

I don’t want to care.

Baz parts his lips to say something, but he frowns and stands up. As he parts, he says, “I’ll talk to you _later_.”

“I didn’t know you two were on speaking terms again,” Agatha says, watching him walk back to an empty table. He started to sit by himself the night after the incident.

“We’ve talked, but he’s not being a total arse,” I mumble more to myself. “He’s up to something.”

After Agatha shoots me a glare that screams “Stop”, we change the subject.

I don’t take my eyes off Baz.

 

**Baz**

Simon won’t take his eyes off me. It makes all too many emotions flood my senses. I hate him for making this all secret, our little affair, but at the same time, it’s intriguing to watch him act as if nothing is happening between us. I haven’t talked to him about it, only because he requests me not to, but still. I never thought him to be an actor. It’s all too peculiar, but I’m happy, I think. And in love. I love Simon Snow, and maybe he loves me. He hasn’t said, but tonight’s supposed to be special. That’s what he said and I hope he’s right.

It is most peculiar that the Veil is thinning just now, and for the first time in my life. I’ve always dreamed of the day it would, and now that it is, I can’t help but wonder… Will I see my mum?

It might be a happy accident that the Veil didn’t rise on the Autumnal Equinox when it’s supposed to, but at the same time, it’s wrong. There’s magic behind it, and I have no doubt that it was the Mage. He wanted to keep the truth from Simon, but his magick went wrong somewhere and failed, only delaying it. That’s my guess, and I can put things together pretty easily. (Besides Penelope, I am the smartest at Watford.)

Maybe the Mage is lifting the Veil himself. Simon, after all, is the Chosen One. Officially. There was a seminar that a missed and I haven’t heard much about it. Probably mostly about the Basilisk, I didn’t bother to ask Dev or Niall to fill me in.

Now that he is the official Chosen One, or heir, or whatever, you would think that he would _genuinely_ hate me now.

No. It’s the opposite. I don’t think there’s any possibility of being happier.

 

**Simon**

Do vampires float? I swear Baz is floating from class to class like he’s standing on a fucking cloud or something. It’s weird and it’s pissing me off. I want to yell at him, asking why he has to be happy.

But I also wonder this about myself: why do I care so much?

My life’s better than it’s ever been. I have a cool, headmaster father figure, Penny, Rhys and Gareth (a couple of guys I share a couple classes with), free food, housing, and clothing, and Agatha. I have a lovely girlfriend named Agatha Wellbelove with big, brown eyes and beautiful, blond hair.

I have all of these things, these nice things and I’m happy about it. But when I see Baz happy as well, I can’t help but wonder why.

His happiness doesn’t affect me in the least bit. Our path together split when he decided to tear me down like he did. Baz forfeited any chance of _us_. Now that I look back at it, he did it on purpose. He wanted to attract the Mage away from his family, which is loyal. But he was supposed to protect me, keep me from the “corrupt” hands of the Mage. Baz failed me and I dropped him because of that and, because the Grimm and Pitch families are Old. They want regression when the Mage only wants fairness.

I may be biased about the Mage, but seeing out of the Mage’s lenses is like seeing out of perfectly prescribed glasses. Everything is clear, it makes sense.

That’s why I have to hate Baz, even when I hate hating him sometimes.

Sometimes I do actually hate him, though. Like I hate him for being happy… without me.

I want him to want me, even though I don’t want him. There was something about his care—when he _did_ care— that always pacified me. His touch, his hand holding, there was meaning and soul behind it.

Do vampires have souls?

I don’t know.

“You look… distracted.”

Agatha’s voice sounds so distant when she’s right next to me.

“I just want to know why,” I sigh, looking at her.

It seems she knows what I’m talking about. She rolls her eyes and glances at Baz, who is a seat in of front of us.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe he’s planning your death,” Agatha tells me what she thinks I want to hear.

Maybe he _is_ planning my death. I don’t want him to be evil, but the Mage tells me the family is trouble. The whole vampire thing makes him evil. He is evil, but I don’t want him to be.

The problem is, I can’t even pin the word “evil” on him. He’s a git and a bully, but he hasn’t done anything to really, truly hurt someone without reversing the spell in the blink of an eye.

Unless he is in cahoots with the Humdrum.

My brain hurts too much. I put my head down.

 

I wake up when Agatha nudges me.

“Walk me to the Cloisters.” She smiles, holding out her hand. I stand and take it, but scan the room to see if Baz is still in there.

He already left, damn it.

As we make our way to the women’s dormitories, Agatha asks, “Are you going to go with us to Penny’s this weekend?”

Is she pleading?

I want to, partially so I can get even more fictional vampire stories just to see if I can get Baz to notice again. But then again, I want to keep an eye on him just to see if he _is_ planning anything.

Would it be bad to leave my new girlfriend alone on the weekend? There’s plenty of weekends ahead of us, and I’ll probably be with her on Christmas.

“I think I’m going to stay. I still feel pretty behind and want to study.” Not a complete lie, but not my ulterior motive.

Agatha pouts her thin lips but understandably nods. “Okay. Just… if you decide that you’re bored, you’ll probably be able to get a hold of Penny.” With the squeeze of my hand, she goes to part from me since we’ve arrived at the Cloisters.

I pull her back, however, and kiss her on the lips. She doesn’t kiss back but smiles at me when she pulls away.

Once she’s out of sight, I make my way back to the Mummers House.

The shower is surprisingly on when I walk into the large room. Baz always takes showers in the morning, and it’s in the afternoon. It’s only Thursday, so he would usually be doing homework. But no… he’s in the shower.

I awkwardly take a seat on my bed and pull out my work so I can get some done. With being new and all, I’m watched closely and if _I_ , the Mage’s heir, didn’t turn in my work, I would probably have an angry Mage on my tail.

I don’t want to get on his bad side.

So, I do my homework until Baz walks out of the bathroom with a loose tee and trackies on. His wet, pitch hair hangs in his face loosely, almost masking that widow’s peak of his.

If Agatha wasn’t my girlfriend, if Baz wasn’t my nemesis, I would tell him he looks fit.

_Simon, seriously, what in Crowley’s name are you thinking?_

Baz notices that I was looking at him and he smiles, baring teeth and all.

He proudly sports his fangs.

Morgana, he’s lost it.

I look down at my paper and scrawl down the answer I was going to put, hoping I’m not blushing.

As I write, Baz takes a seat on his bed, I glance over at him again.

“Shower in the afternoon? I thought we had a schedule.”

Baz _giggles_. “Yeah…but tonight.”

Instead of pressing further, I shake my head and get back to my work. He does his own as well…

 

Until it’s about thirty minutes before Baz always takes off. He sets his work aside and gets up. He pulls clothes, non-Watford clothes, out of his wardrobe, then grabs a periwinkle button-down and a pair of black trousers.

At least I know he’s not plotting my death… unless he’s collaborating with Fiona or something.

She _hates_ me now.

Walking back into the bathroom, he closes the door but doesn’t _shut_ it. I can see him take off his clothes and pull the formal-ish wear on. From what I can tell, he looks really nice.

_Who is he dressing up for?_

Suddenly, an uncomfortable feeling fills my chest, an unexplainable, angry, envious feeling. I think I may be smoking. I glance at myself, and sure enough, I am.

_Why?_

Baz steps out a moment later, his hair slicked back with gel. He smiles at me, again, and I half-heartedly smile back, then frown.

I wish he wasn’t happy.

“I never thought of you as the happy type.”

“Well…” I can hear the smile in his voice. He doesn’t finish what he says. Instead, he grabs a jumper, pulls it on (messing his hair up in the process), and says, “See you in a few.”

What, hours?

I give Baz a ten-minute head start, and once I know he’s far enough away, I leave.

It’s hard to navigate around when we’re supposed to be making our way to our dorms. Guards will tell you to make your way to the Mummers House or the Cloisters and not take their eyes off you until you head in that direction, but the way Baz is taking, well, no one is bothering him, or me for that matter. We walk out of the inner fence with ease and past the pitch.

I freeze when he walks into the Wavering Wood.

I’ve never been in there, and at night? I’d have to be stupid…

But I’m the most powerful magician here and Baz is a vampire. I think we’ll survive.

I try to quietly make my way through the wood, and as I follow behind, I hear him mutter something.

“ ** _Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary_**.”

Flowers appear in his hands.

I can feel myself fuming and it pisses me off further that I care that he’s seeing someone.

Eventually, we reach a part of the wood that nearly throws me off guard. We hit a giant dead spot.

What in the hell?

Baz looks like he’s used to this as he takes a seat on a large rock facing away from me. He’s toying with the flowers in his hands. He’s nervous, and I am too.

Originally, I was going to try and magick him asleep so I could wait and see what was making him so happy. I’ve been practising them on rats and I don’t have it down exactly, but it’s more reliable than other spells I know. However, I have no magic.

And he may be waiting for someone.

Maybe whoever he’s waiting for is bad.

Maybe he found an evil boyfriend.

Maybe he found someone new.

In the end, I decide not to change my plan. I’m going to knock him out, still. Just with my sword.

Baz has a pretty sharp ear, so I’m surprised that I’m not only able to recite the incantation to retrieve my sword, but I’m also able to make my way around him without him noticing.

Before he can actually take the time to notice my presence, I hold the sword up and hit him, hard, with the width of the sword. This automatically knocks him out and he slumps over, falling face-first into the leaf-covered ground.

When I realize what I had truly done, I automatically regret it. First off, when he wakes up, he’ll _kill_ me with no remorse. Secondly, I hurt him. I _actually_ hurt him. I know he’s perfectly capable of hurting me, but I never thought…

Oh, Crowley.

The only thing I can do is take him back to the dorm.

But I want to see what or who he’s waiting for.

I can’t.

But I want to.

After a few more moments of decision making, I finally decide that the smart thing to do is to take Baz back. I scoop him up in my arms—he’s tall but light as a feather—and unwillingly make my way out of the wood.

As I carry Baz back, I can’t help but glance down and get a look at him. He looks at peace and happy, happy without me. I shouldn’t care anymore. He hurt me. He said he hated me and that I was nothing and it sounded like he meant it. He said that he was only falling for the idea of redemption, of proving himself good. I want to make him good, but I don’t want to be used.

I guess he found someone that makes him feel good.

It’s not me.

What I just did was hurt him for wanting to be good and happy. What type of person does that make _me_?

I notice that I’m near ready to blow when it’s too late. I made it inside Watford walls in time, but Baz is still in my arms and he isn’t there to help me down like he did that one time he said he wanted to make me happy.

He can’t keep me from _going off_ now. It’s my fault.

Just before I can _go off_ , I manage to drop Baz and I run as far away from him as I can.

However, I’m not far enough.

The last thing I see is Baz’s body hitting the wall with immense force.

Everything goes black.


	17. Chapter 17

**Baz**

I see someone. I see _her_. She is reaching out for me. Her dark grey eyes bore into mine. She is frowning.

She is frowning at me.

As I go to speak, my voice leaves me. I want to apologize, tell her that I know she is disappointed in who I am.

Finally, I can scream, “Mum!”

I fly to her and bury my nose into the base of her neck. And I cry. I sob, my heart aches.

“You will know in time,” she ominously says, stroking my hair.

And she disappears.

 

**Simon**

Everything is black.

Given, it’s dark. I don't know for how long I've slept, or how hard the impact I made was, but the school is still intact. I can tell because I’m staring at a ceiling.

I don't recognize it, but it's a sturdy ceiling.

My head aches as I sit up. After the blast, I must've been whisked to the infirmary because I'm sitting in a hard, white wrought iron bed and the smell in the air is as hospital-y as a magickal infirmary can get.

Beginning to look around, my eyes fall on Baz. My heart aches.

There's a white bandage wrapped around his head.

The offence obviously affected him rather badly. Usually, a couple of healing spells can bind a wound, but his head is wrapped and he’s _out_.

When I get a closer look at him, I notice that he’s glistening…

Ha. Maybe vampires _do_ glisten.

But it's night, and he's beginning to tremble.

Almost like it’s instinct, I push myself from the bed and take a seat on the edge of his. I've never seen him have a night terror before, but I know he tried to calm me when I did.

Maybe… I should help him. The Mage would be cross if he heard I did, but I know what it’s like to be in his place.

Just before he can let out a yelp, I take Baz’s hand and lace our fingers. This calms him slightly.

What really puts him at ease is when I begin to rub his shoulder.

After a little while of comforting him, I go to get up. However, I'm pulled back down because Baz has a death grip on my hand.

I see that he’s awake when I turn around. His eyes are filled with tears and a natural pout compliments his face. “Please stay,” he rasps.

I can't put compelling someone past the Grimm side of his family. Penelope tells me something new happens near every day, with them. But Baz… I don't think we would cast a forbidden spell on school grounds. _That_ could cost him.

So, I do. I sit back down on the bed and try to ignore the fact that I’m holding his hand.

I think Agatha is jealous of Penny sometimes. The person she should probably jealous of is Baz.

“Tired of hating me right now?” I almost chuckle.

He lets out a shaky breath. I can tell that he’s in pain, but I don't trust myself enough to try and heal him.

“No,” he grunts, squeezing my hand. “I’m tired of hiding.”

Just as I go to ask him what he means, his eyes open, wide, and I can see his fangs pop out. (His mouth isn't even open. I can see it through the flesh of his cheeks.)

Pupils dilating in the pale moonlight, he pushes me away. “Stay away, Simon.”

It clicks. He hasn't had anything to eat and I don't know how long we’ve been up here, passed out.

I know there's no way of getting out of here without the doctor noticing, so I do the first thing I can think of: find some sort of instrument that could draw blood or even cut me.

I either need to give it to him willingly, or I become a victim of instinct.

My choice.

Thankfully, a razor blade is in one of the drawers of the nightstand next to me. I hold it up and the blade gleams in the little light filling the infirmary. (I just noticed that Baz and I are alone up here.)

It’s clean, so I turn to Baz. He's covering his mouth, eyes on me like I'm his next meal.

_He wants to be good_.

“Where would you like to feed from?” I ask without hesitation. I'm not scared.

_Baz wants to be good_.

Instead of telling me, he shakes his head and muffles, “No, Simon, no!” into his palm.

I scoot closer in response. “I don't know how long it's been since you've nabbed something, Baz. I know you're trying to be good, but I don't think you can suppress it any longer. Tell me where you want it.”

Defeat is clear on his face as he points to the crook of his neck.

So, he _is_ definitely a vampire.

“You'll need to help me, okay? I can't see and I haven't any idea of where a mirror is. And don't kill me, please.”

“Never,” he whimpers. Shakily, he grabs the razor from me, makes sure I give him a final nod, and cuts right where he likes it.

The minute I feel a cold rush, Baz attacks the drip and attaches his lips to my neck.

I hate to admit it, but it feels so good and… pseudo-erotic.

It feels like it will never end, him sucking at my neck and drinking the blood from the cut. But when it does, I feel cold and sicker than I did before.

Then, Baz starts to cry. Hard. He unravels the wrap from his head and places it over my neck where the infliction is still bleeding slightly. His nose finds its way to the crook of my neck and he continues to _sob_ , holding onto me like he never wants to let go.

“What if you Turn?” he says, running his fingers over my goose-pimple covered neck. “What if I Turned you? Oh my god, Simon. I'm a monster, I'm a monster!”

Baz is riding on the edge of mass hysteria. I've never had to bring him down, but I _can_ tell him one thing.

“You are what you make yourself to be, but I know you are not a monster.” There's a strong impulse to run my fingers through his hair as I talk. “You would rather starve than touch a human being, _obviously_. And I am not going to turn into a vampire. I get why you're worried, but I'm fine. A little dizzy, but fine. You needed to eat, or drink, or whatever you call it. Please, _please_ don’t think that you are a monster because you drank my blood. I let you. It was my choice.”

Baz can only hiccup. He continues to run his fingers along the skin of my neck and it feels good.Agatha isn't on my mind as I sit there, holding Baz. I'm supposed to hate him, but I held his hand, let him drink from my neck, and now I’m holding him. Tomorrow, or in an hour or two, I have to pretend that this never happened.

I don't know how I'm going to explain the cut—and quite possibly, a love bite—on my neck, but when it comes to an explanation, I'll find something to say.

After a while of sitting there with him, comforting him, I go to move. He's clung to me, however.And when I shift, he lifts his head. “You know my big, bad secret now,” he croaks.

I can't help but chuckle. Things feel a little… normal. But in a good way. Right. Things feel right.

I hate hating Baz.

“I knew,” I mutter. I pull myself away from him and he finally lets me, but his hand catches mine and he doesn't want to let go.

“I know you knew.” He's beginning to revert to his regular self. Seemingly emotionless, not happy, not a total mess. That's Baz and that's good enough for me.

“I got those books just to annoy you, by the way. I mean… the Dracula one… I bought that one because I didn't know where to start and I didn't want to dig too deep. I didn't know if I could dig too deep without the Mage knowing.” I shrug and he scoffs.

“Is that why we’re sneaking around? For the Mage? You told me it was because of Agatha.”

I freeze.

“ _What_?”

When I look back at him, I notice how deterred and _flustered_ he looks. I recognize the frustration mixed in, but he's blushing. He's blushing, _again_.

“I know I'm not supposed to talk about it outside of the wood, but—”

“Baz.” I place both hands on his shoulders. “ _What_ are you talking about?”

A mix of horror, anger, and sadness mix up on Baz’s face. (I don't know how I manage to distinguish each emotion.)

“I… the Wavering… Simon,” he huffs. “Don't be this way.”

“What way?” I accidentally raise my voice a notch. “I haven't any idea of what you're talking about. _Tell_ me. I can't read your bloody mind!”

Baz wants to yell back. I can tell.

(He doesn't, thankfully.)

For once, he _actually_ explains.

“Not too long ago, I went into the Wavering Wood to… you know.” He sighs. “And I saw _you_. _You_ caught me. You saw me and… I thought you would tell the Mage and…” Baz looks absolutely crushed. “It wasn't you, was it?”

I shake my head a few times. “No… it wasn't. Is… that why you were so happy?”

Baz looks at me, a bit hesitant, then nods.

Huffing, I pull my knees to my chest. “It's extremely hard to hate you… even when I should, and when our statuses put us on two different ends of a battlefield. But, Baz, I didn’t ever go out into the wood until tonight, and…”

I chuckle, panning my arm across the extent of the infirmary.

“Do you know how long we’ve been here?” he asks me.

I shrug. “Long enough for you to be absolutely starving…”

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbles, placing his hand on the back of his head. He pauses for a moment, then looks at me with a shocked expression.

“I think I feel my skull.”

The thought of him hitting the wall so bloody hard makes me sick and angry. _I_ did that to him.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“I’m the reason you’re hurt, Baz.” I want to punch something. “ _Fuck_.”

“It’s actually not _that_ bad, but it hurts to touch. Just think of it as payback,” Baz says, gently nudging me. “For being a dick on that plot of land… you know why I did it, yeah?”

I nod. “It sounded like you meant it, though.”

Baz’s breath stifles. “Never.”

I think I feel my heart flit.

For a moment, we’re silent.

Baz doesn’t bother with physical contact anymore, but he eventually says, “If it wasn’t you in the Wavering Wood with me, who was it?”

 

* * *

 

I wake up later in the day, back in my bed. The sun is now up and I can see things much clearer. I don’t really remember when I moved back to my bed and went back to sleep, or what I said to Baz after we both questioned _who_ was pretending to be me. There are transfiguration spells out there, but it’s considered dark magick, shit _no one_ on this land would be able to touch.

 

This is something we’d have to figure out after both of us are out of the infirmary, but now that we’re up, we’re stuck with questioning. Ms. Possibelf wants to know what happened and why it did. I also think I need to tell Baz _what_ I was doing. I still haven’t.

Our teacher pulls up a chair and places it in between our beds. There’s a strict, unbiased look on her face. I’m glad she doesn’t show who she favours.

“You two just barely slipped into the gates before it closed, not to mention there’s an unidentified threat making rounds on attacking the school!” She sounds more scared than angry. “And Mr. Snow, what in Merlin’s name made you _go off_ , _again_?”

I don’t think Ms. Possibelf magicked us with any sort of truth spell. (Is that even allowed? Crowley, I’m a bad magician.)

“I was worried about Baz,” I admit, partially. “I found him near the pitch and, well, he was knocked out…”

Possibelf gives me a deadpanned look. “From what I understand, you two don’t exactly get on… and you _went off_ inside the inner fence.”

Sometimes, I forget that Penny is the only one that knows of our history. I was the reason he was gone for the first eight(ish) weeks of the school year. There’s a mess of feelings lying at our feet. But I know there’s still a bit of care in me for him. (Probably far more than I admit.)

“What’s the unidentified threat?” Baz asks suddenly. I glance over to find him looking awful confused.

Oh, yeah.

I still wonder what he was doing while he missed the seminar.

“Basilton, were you not at the White Chapel a week ago?”

“We were out for _four_ days?” I gasp.

“Three,” Baz corrects me, surprised as well.

“Wow, I must’ve made an impact.”

“We are off topic,” Ms. Possibelf sighs, looking back at me. “Mr. Snow, can you please—”

“Excuse me, Ms. Possibelf, but I want to know what in the hell is threatening Watford.”

I almost feel the need to reach over and place a hand on Baz’s to calm him down.

“Mr. Snow can tell you while the two of you spend time in detention tomorrow,” Ms. Possibelf tuts. “Now, _tell me_ what happened.”

Baz looks pissed about detention, and I’m a little miffed as well. However, it gives us time to talk.

Crowley, one little rueful feeling unleashes an entire dam’s worth of feelings not mentioned before.

“I was practising on the pitch and worked myself too much. I blacked out and he found me.”

Thank Morgana he’s helping my case.

Well, it’s his case too.

“I think… seeing Baz hurt made me feel a little remorseful. That was the cherry on top of my stressful day and once I reached the courtyard, I blew.”

Ms. Possibelf can tell we’re not telling the truth, I’m sure. But she leaves it alone by standing up and saying, “Good day… two girls are waiting to see you, Mr. Snow.”

She leaves.

I turn to Baz. “The Humdrum.”

He emotionlessly cocks a brow. “ _What_?”

Before I can repeat myself, Penny and Agatha flood the room.

Agatha clings to me in a hug immediately, flinching just slightly at my musty, campfire smell. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed and gasps. I want to ask, but she puts her hand over the gauze on my neck.

“That wasn’t there yesterday, Simon!”

I remember that Baz magicked the cut away at one point… but there wasn’t much we could do about the blotchy, red circle that surrounded it. I don’t want Agatha to think I’m cheating. (First off, we _just_ started dating. Secondly, I don’t think feeding your starving ex-romantic-interest counts as cheating.)

When I glance up at Penny, I notice she’s staring at Baz. He’s shamefully looking away.

Wait, she knows?

I want to indirectly tell her to stop shaming Baz, but with Agatha freaking out over my neck, I can’t.

Plus, she probably thinks I went off because Baz bit me or something.

This is becoming an absolute mess.

I have to get them out of here…

“Agh..” I hold the back of my head and lay down. “I’m starting to get a migraine…”

“Should I get a nurse?” Agatha places a hand over mine.

It feels nice.

“No, thank you. I think I just need to rest more.” I shut my eyes to try and convince her.

(I know this won’t convince Penny.)

“Okay… just feel better. Let me know if you need anything, love.”

I’m surprised when she kisses me on the mouth.

It feels nice.

After a few moments, I hear Baz mumble, “Clear.”

I sit up and turn to him. He’s sitting there, stone faced.

“Baz, you okay?”

It looks like he wants to yell at me, but his face falls into disgruntlement.

“I wish you would have just left me be, Snow… let me live my fantasies. We wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t have become a monster, we wouldn’t have to be going to detention…”

I get up and sit on his bed as he trails off. “Are you _jealous_ of Agatha?”

Baz is blushing as he says, “No.”

I give him a knowing look and cross my legs.

“You’re not a monster, Baz. We already discussed this.”

Shifting in his seat, he says, “Your blood was the best I’ve had… and I want more.”

Okay, _that_ is a bit worrisome.

“Next time I get scuffed up, you can get first dibs?”

Surprisingly, he chortles. Then, he looks at me. “I don’t want to Turn you.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. “You don’t scare me.”

Baz looks surprised. “You terrify me.”

I don’t know what to do with that information. I know the Mage would probably have a field day with my authority over the Old Families.

“What are we, Snow?” Baz suddenly asks.

I blush, even though I shouldn’t.

“Taking account of the fact that someone’s using my face, I would say we’re allies at the moment.”

A smile flickers onto Baz’s lips.

“Good enough for me.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Simon**

Baz wakes me up the next day by hitting me in the backside with a pillow. I let out a grunt and go to flip him off, but he hits me again, harder.

“ _Get_. _Up_.”

I sit up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. It’s early in the morning, why are we up? Why is he waking me up?

“What time is it?” I groan, pushing myself off the bed.

“Time to eat,” he tells me, throwing my uniform at me.

I’m surprised. He never routinely goes to the dining hall. Even I go a little bit later than this. But then again, as it gets later in the year, the sun rises later.

Still, I’m surprised.

“But really, what time is it?” I ask as I start on making my bed.

Baz mutters something under his breath and suddenly, my bed is made and my clothes are folded, sitting on the edge.

“Waste of magic.”

“I don’t care.” He sits on his bed and grabs the Dracula book I’ve stopped reading—partially because I’ve actually taken interest in going to find vampire books in the library, partially because I was knocked out for a matter of three days—and opens it to the first page.

It takes about ten minutes for me to change, and once I am, I walk back into the room and nearly startle when I just about walk into Baz’s chest. He steps back without apology and glances at his wristwatch.

“It’s half six. I thought it would be proper to start the day early.”

“Why?” I ask. Baz usually wanders in the dining hall as he pleases.

“Well,” he says, “it gives us time to talk about… things.”

Things being the Humdrum and who he is and what he was doing exactly when he was out in the Wavering Wood.

Every little thing matters when it comes to finding out who was posing as _me_. They must’ve been _pretty_ convincing if Baz actually thought the person wearing my face _was_ me.

“Oh… that makes sense,” I mumble. I assume we’ll be up in the room before school, so I leave my things as we exit our room.

As we walk down, I notice Baz is wringing his hands nervously.

Is he really nervous to talk to me?

That's… cute.

“So,” he starts, glancing over at me. “I think our little detective ploy will be an _us_ thing. I mean, Penelope is rather good at putting this sort of shit together, but…”

“I'm dating Agatha and you're embarrassed to admit that you thought you were _seeing_ me.”

I can be thick sometimes, but a blind person could see where Baz is coming from.

“Yeah…” He laughs breathlessly and looks at the courtyard.

I do as well.

We went back to our room later yesterday evening, so it was too dark to really check anything out. It's still dark, but it's a little easier to see.

Thankfully, there is just a bit of dirt turn up and a few patches of burnt grass. Nothing more.

Baz gets distracted and I follow him as he walks to the wall. He puts his hand over a certain place on the wall and says, “This is where I hit my head.”

I glance up at the spot where a tiny patch of hair is missing then look back at the wall. “I'm so sorry, Baz…”

“We talked about this, it’s fine.”

The dining hall is empty other than a couple of nervous first years that are afraid of running late to classes. I don't think they'd care much of what we'd have to talk about, but Baz slips into a seat by the front doors.

I get us food.

“So, the Humdrum. What in Merlin’s name is that?” he asks, not wasting any time as I take a seat.

I take a sour cherry scone from the community plate and put it on my own.

“Ms. Possibelf just said that it was the reason for the holes and attacks. The Basilisk was sent by the Humdrum. No one’s ever seen it or him or whatever, but apparently it was behind everything, from the… vampire attacks,” I notice Baz’s eyes sink to the table, “up to the Basilisk. Ms. Possibelf said the only person who can defeat it is _me_.”

Baz’s eyes look into my own. “ _What_?”

“Even the Mage can’t fight it. Not enough power.”

Baz blinks a couple of times. “So, you mean to tell me that the Mage _just_ figured out that the person behind the vampire attack is some unknown magick energy?”

I can tell Baz is angry. I would be as well.

“There's probably a reason why it—”

“The Mage hates my family, Snow. And why was he trying to find the Chosen One all of this time if he _didn't_ know about it?” Baz reaches over the table, grabs my shoulders, and shakes me slightly. “Stop being _so_ thick!”

I shove him off and cross my arms. “I'm trying to be unbiased. You know the Mage is a heavy influence in my magickal knowledge.”

Baz wants to talk back, but before he can, his eyes lift to above my head. He huffs.“Wellbelove.”

“Damn it, Baz! I wanted to surprise him!” Agatha laughs, taking a seat next to me. She grabs my limp hand, and before I know it, Penny is on the other side of me.

“You’re up early,” she notes, pulling out a thick book. “Ever since Ms. Possibelf mentioned this new entity, I decided to do some research myself. I’m telling you, Simon, if we want to figure any way to get rid of this thing, you _have_ to come home with me this weekend. I’m sure my dad knows a lot about this Humdrum, or whatever it is.”

Baz and I quickly glance at each other. He nods.

“I… should go and join _my_ friends,” Baz mutters once I look away. I can feel him get up, the table wobbling slightly as he pushes himself from the bench.

Penny gives it a few minutes before saying, “What could you two possibly be talking about?”

I don’t want to throw Baz under the bus. I know he’s done bad shit and I have too, but I just can’t pretend that he’s evil anymore. I’m taking off the Mage’s goggles for now, and if I have to put them on again, I will. Just not right now.

“Not too much. I mean, we are roommates—”

“Cut the bullshit, Simon.” Penny’s frowning… I think she’s trying to be intimidating.

“You did look like you were having a deep conversation…” Agatha squeezes my non-existent bicep. “Aren’t you two mortal enemies?”

“Supposed to be,” I groan, resting my head against the wood of the table. “We’re supposed to be, but I don’t have the time to hate him… and it just makes me angry.”

Agatha knows nothing of what happened between us, but Penny is giving me a wary look. “So, you two are… cool?”

“I don’t know about _that_ , but the Mage isn’t breathing down my neck. I don’t have to hate Baz. I’m not supposed to agree with him… but…”

Penny places a hand on my arm.

Agatha grabs my other hand out of reflex.

“You’re used to not hating him.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean?” Agatha brushes a strand of her platinum hair over her shoulder and grabs a scone to gnaw on. “I thought…”

“We haven’t told you the whole truth, Agatha,” Penny says, taking one for the team. “Baz knew Simon before I did. You can’t tell anyone, but Baz sought Simon out.”

“Does the Mage know this?” she says, huffing.

“That’s the one person that specifically doesn’t need to know,” I say, shivering at the thought of the Mage finding out. He’d make me deliver Baz’s head to his office on a stick.

Agatha slowly nods her head and pushes herself up from the table. “I’ll… be back.”

Penny leans towards me once Agatha is out of earshot and says, “Break up with her.”

My eyes widen. “ _What_ , why? I like her!”

“ _Like_.” She blinks a couple of times, takes a swig of the milk I originally got for Baz, and sets the carton back on the table. “Is there any chemistry?”

“Yes.” I think. Agatha is pretty, sweet, and somewhat clingy. There are times where I like it and there are times I don’t. But does that count?

Penny scowls at me, pushing her dark curls out of her eyes. “You touch her like she’s fragile, Simon. Like she’s a butterfly or a china doll. You’re hesitant.”

“But I like her!” I argue.

“Not as much as Baz.”

I hesitate to say, “Not true!”

She sports a knowing look. “I think all three of you would be happier if you broke up with her.”

“Three?”

Penny nods her head over my shoulder, so I glance over to find Baz walking in with my things for class.

“I think Prince Dracula would be ecstatic if you showed him some loving… after you break up with Agatha.”

I’m beginning to fume and surely, my cheeks must be tinged a bright red. To cover up, I say, “The reason he’s so happy is that he found someone.”

To my surprise, Penny freezes, a shocked look on her face.

“You’re jesting.”

I shrug as if it’s nothing, but in all reality, I would probably be crestfallen if Baz was happy like that with someone else.

“I’m not.”

 

**Baz**

The rest of the day seems to buzz along at an annoyingly slow pace, and as soon as my last class is dismissed, I make my way to Latin—that’s where Simon is. He doesn’t look to be expecting me when he nearly walks into me for the second time today.

To no surprise, he grunts and gently (and playfully?) shoves me.

“Stop being so… loomy. You’re making yourself obvious.”

I shove him back because of that.

“You could always, _I don’t know_ , pay attention,” I retort.

“Yeah, yeah… we go to the Magic Words classroom, right?” Simon asks as we make a right.

“Yes…” I chortle. “I can’t believe you’re getting detention for _this_ and not attacking some deadly creature.”

“I know right?” he groans, shuffling along beside me. “I mean, I have a reason for both, but I’m surprised I didn’t get detention for nearly killing myself.”

I chuckle again and walk into Ms. Possibelf’s room. The room has been entirely messed. I know she’s done this especially for us. We had her earlier and the room was perfectly clean.

“Do you know what you two are going to do today?” Ms. Possibelf asks, holding her hand out towards me.

I raise a brow.

“Give me your wand.”

I do so without questioning. “What's going on?”

“Do _you_ have your wand, Mr. Snow?” she asks Snow, completely ignoring my question.

After feeling his pocket, he nods hesitantly. “Uh...yeah.”

“Good, good. Now, any idea of what you'll be doing?”

I look around. The room’s a mess. She took my wand and made Simon keep his.

“How is this in any way disciplinary?”

“Teaches Mr. Snow here how to use a wand properly and shows you that you don't need magic for everything—even if it _is_ encouraged. I'll be back in an hour and it better be cleaned.”

Ms. Possibelf leaves us alone, to my surprise.

“Is she not staying to see if we switch off or something?” Snow asks, just as surprised.

I shrug. “I assume not.”

To make things easier, I hold my hand out for his hand. In response, he gawks. “Baz.”

“Snow.” I step closer. “Wand.”

“I need to practice.”

“I'm flammable.”

A pout forms on Simon’s lips. “Get some water to put out anything I start.”

“Can't leave the classroom.”

Just to prove my point, I make my way to the door and try to turn the handle. Only a Magic Words teacher would enchant the door locked.

“Oh,” Simon grumbles, coming up behind me. He reaches over and wraps his hand around mine, trying to open the door. “What?”

“She _magicked_ the door closed, Snow. I would get water, but I can't, you complete _git_. Give me the wand. We’ll be finished faster and we can actually come up with suspects and motives.”

Simon finally places the wand in my hand and trudges off to the blackboard. He grabs the chalkboard erasers, finds a trash can, and begins to clap the erasers. Chalk flies everywhere (obviously), and Snow begins to cough.

“Are you bad at _everything_?”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, “and do your job.”

Never have I ever tried to use another person’s power tap. It’s dangerous, as far as I know. So, I stash the wand in my pocket and join Simon in the front of the class. I grab the extra eraser laying on the ledge of the chalkboard and begin to erase whatever she wrote in some language even _I_ don't speak. (Must be magic words…)

“What was your night terror about?” Simon asks suddenly, making me pause.

“What?”

Simon turns to me, sitting cautiously on the edge of the trash bin. “When we were in the infirmary.”

Telling him would probably be a mistake, but I know it's a genuine Simon Snow. His magic is so different than anyone else’s: awry, fiery, and _strong_. Sometimes, it feels as if his power could knock me over like a strong wave.

(If we’re talking things other than magic, the attraction is just as strong.) (He pulls me in and pushes me out like a bloody tide.) (Not that it matters at the moment.)

“My mum… would want me dead because I'm a vampire. But… she said I'd know the truth. I haven't any idea…”

The truth.

“It sounds like you were dreaming about the Veil.” Simon titters, setting the erasers aside once the white talc has stopped filling the air.

“Maybe I wasn't asleep…”

“You looked _pretty_ asleep.”

Of course this goes over his head. I love him, but sometimes his obliviousness baffles me.

“I think she stepped through the Veil, Snow!”

The boy looks at me with wide, blue eyes. “So… you met your mum.”

“Maybe…”

I grab a piece of chalk and draw out a T-chart.

If we want to think, we need to start.

(It takes a bit to get Simon’s wheels grinding.)

“We obviously don't know the truth.”

“We don't know _who_. We don't know the _entire_ motive. But we know that it was probably to throw me off.”

I split off two new categories: _Suspects_ and _Possible Motives_.

“Who knows that you like me?”

 _Like_? Ha.

I write down three names and a group.

_Penelope._

_Fiona._

_Father._

_Rest of the family?_

“Probably not the rest of your family.”

I sharply turn towards him. “You were my fake boyfriend for a good while, Snow.”

He nods knowingly. “Then put your siblings.”

I groan, erase “ _Rest of the family?_ ”, and put “ _Siblings_ ”.

Then, for good measure, I put _The Mage_.

“He wouldn't know!” Simon refutes immediately, _of course_.

“Anything is possible with him,” I say. “Now, possible motives.”

“You have to tell me what happened, first. Then we can start brainstorming,” Simon says, taking the chalk from me. “You think better when you pace and I need you to tell us everything.”

I'm surprised he picked up on that. There's an urge to smile, but I push it down and begin to walk back and forth across the front of the room.

“Everything, Baz. I don't care if it's embarrassing.”

Of course.

Maybe this is a sit-down story, then. Pacing’s only useful when I'm looking for something to say, not when I know what needs to be said.

Simon shoots me a confused look when I sit down in a chair, but he does the same, across from me.

“When we first got back, Snow, I hated you for many reasons… none of the reasons were in your control. You would hate me because of the Mage, you didn't really talk to me, you looked at me like I was evil. I… felt evil. But then I didn't… and now, I don't know what I am.

“But I didn't _just_ hate you, Simon Snow. I was very _interested_ in you.” To say the least. “And those feelings confused me to the point of some sort of vulnerability.

“So, one night, when I went into the Wavering Wood, I hit an unexpected dead spot. This was before I knew of the Humdrum, but it's obvious _something_ was eating up holes in a magickal map… anyway, while I was eating, I heard _your_ voice and I panicked. We were still in that odd state of limbo where I didn’t know how to feel about you exactly and you seemed simply off-put by the idea of me as a being. So, when your voice said that you wanted to be with me… I was surprised.

“The feeling he… it… gave me was emptiness, but I was hungry for the idea of _us_.” I can feel my cheeks heat up as the admittance. “Maybe I did know that it wasn't you, nothing felt right with it when we held hands, or bumped into each other, or anything else. It felt like dipping myself into a void without completely submerging into it.

“But my fantasies overruled my reality and I fell for it.”

Heat shoots up my arm when Simon places his hand over my own.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Disappointment is dripping from his voice.

“Agatha.”

Simon sighs.

“Why didn't you mention anything outside of the wood?”

“ _It_ said you wouldn't speak of it. So, I stayed silent.”

I can see some sort of look swim around in those pools of blue, and when he looks at me, I recognize what he must be feeling.

Regret.

I look down before I can blush.

“Keep talking, you need to go on. You were really happy… you need to say everything that happened, Baz.”

Simon’s grip on my arm tightens.

“Can you tell me why you were in the wood that night after?”

In my peripheral, I see him nod.

“The first night I went back, I told him everything I felt for you. The thing was, I felt like I was _compelled_ to. We were in a dead spot, mind you, so I don't know he got that out of me—”

“So you'll tell a façade of me how you feel?”

“ _Stop_.” I shoot Simon a glare before looking back down. “I told him what feels like everything, so… Crowley, whoever it is has the world against me.”

Simon’s hand slides down my wrist and to my hand. He entwines our fingers.

“You’ll be okay, we’ll get _whoever_ it is.” All too soon does Simon pulls his hand away so he can go to the chalkboard.

He writes something under “ _What we know:_ ”.

 _Compelling_.

_Sneaks in dead spots._

Then, he strikes out _The Mage_.

“Why?” I groan.

“He doesn't know _anything_ about us and he can’t use magic in dead spots! Even I can't and I'm the ‘ _Chosen One_ ’.” Simon embellishes his title with an eye roll. He turns back to the board and adds a couple of more things that we know.

_Gives off an empty feeling._

_Nothingness_.

Then he adds to ‘ _What we don’t know_ :’.

_The truth… yet._

“If no one can use their magic in a dead spot, might as well cross everyone off the damn suspect list,” I interject as he taps the tip of his chalk against the backboard.

He crosses _everyone_ off, then moves to the “ _Possible motives_ ” category.

“Find weaknesses.”

Simon nods. “Yeah, I guess.”

That's all we know right now as far as motives.

He scrawls it down and turns to me. “How did he make you _feel_ again?”

“Cold, empty, I lost my magic.”

Simon’s eyes widen and he chalks down one word and circles it several times.

_HUMDRUM!_

“It makes sense! But why would he target _you_ and not me?”

I can feel my face heat up like a bloody incinerator. Does that mean…

I’m Simon Snow’s weakness?

“Simon… how do you feel about me?”

The door handle jiggles suddenly, so I toss his wand towards him. He somehow manages to get his wand to work for once.

The words disappear.

“Just wanted to—you've barely cleaned anything!” Ms. Possibelf says with an exasperated tone.

I grab a pair of misplaced scissors and slide them into her desk.

“This better be cleaned up by the next time I return—in fifteen minutes!”

She slams the door shut. For a moment, the door handle glimmers then fades.

Instead of doing any more talking, we clean the classroom.

We don't speak of it any further until later that evening.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I enjoy writing this so much, you don't even understand!
> 
> I do I have a quick question:
> 
> I am thinking about renaming this story. Do y'all have any suggestions?
> 
> Lots of love!
> 
> -Maddie

**Simon**

The drive to Penny’s house was long, nauseating, and hot. The three of us—me, Agatha, and Penny—were stuck in the backseat and Professor Bunce had to pull over at least twice to let me throw up. Driving myself usually settles my stomach and I was too distracted to truly get a grip on the fact that we were driving when Baz drove me around. But since I was shoved in the backseat for a couple of hours, I hadn't much else to think about.

After the agonizing trip, I just about sunk to the ground and kissed it when Professor Bunce parked.

Instead, Penny insisted we went inside and had some hot chocolate.

And that’s what we did.

Agatha’s leaning against me and my one arm is looped around her shoulder. We all sit in front of the fire—the days are growing colder, the nights longer. It feels impeccable being with my best friend and my girlfriend, but something’s missing. Someone. I know exactly who it is and I hate to admit, but I would rather him be here than anywhere else.

After we figured out that the Humdrum was behind it, it became keen interest for me to keep an eye out on him. But Baz insisted that I go, find things out about the Humdrum, report to him via text. (We both kept our phones out of sight at Watford.)

So far, we’ve done nothing but relax.

“Can this be a non-magickal weekend?” Agatha says, resting her silky head on my shoulder. I can feel Penny’s eyes bore through me.

“I came because I needed to do research, right, Penny?” I glance at her and she nods fervourously.

Agatha almost scoffs, but refrains. Instead, she buries her nose into the knit of my jumper—Baz’s, actually.

I think he might've put it in my duffel when I wasn't looking.

“We’re always doing that on campus… don't you two know how to take a break?”

“Uh…” I bite my lip, pulling my arm from around her. “I lived all of my life without knowing I was a magician, Agatha. I want to know who I am.”

A sorry look crosses her face. “I… forgot.”

To reassure that she didn't offend me, I press a kiss to her cheek and turn to Penny. “So, we start… tonight?”

Again, she nods. “Now, preferably.”

“ _Penny_ ,” Agatha groans.

She shoots a glare back in response. “This affects you too, you know.”

Agatha sighs like she doesn't care. “Do you think your mum will let me make cookies or something?”

I'm slightly disturbed by how little Agatha cares about her magic, about the Humdrum, and about how everyone will be damned if no one tries to fix or end this problem. I was told that Agatha was never big on magic, but she just doesn't _care_. This is her life and it's like she doesn't even want to be a part of it.

Then, there's me. It wasn't my life. I found out a couple of months ago that I was a magician. I'm trying to make the most of it at the moment, even if I mainly set things on fire.

(Baz poked fun at that last night.) (I swatted his arm.) (He left to go get a bite.)

It's much more refreshing being able to jest with Baz. It drains a lot less energy and actually makes me feel _good_ . Not just _nice_ . _Good_.

I haven't fumed in the last few days that we’ve actually been collaborating.

We pretend we hate each other by day, but it feels like a joke, all of it. We shove into each other, call each other names, break out in fighting…

And every bloody time I have to back off just to keep myself from laughing. (Baz embellishes the act with, “Scare you, Snow?”) (We both know he doesn’t.)

It's great, a show, really, and people think it's all real.

Well, except for Penny.

I told Agatha that we had a bitter, inhabilitating fight. I shouldn’t have…  

We _did_ have an argument, but it was more Baz yelling at me for leaving my towels on the ground after I take a shower.

Oh, and he got upset that I hit him in the head with the Sword of Mages. But we laughed it off (I laughed it off, he watched me with an amused smile) later.

Speaking of Baz.

“Pen?” I say as I stand up, nearing myself towards the fire (don’t know why, I’m _sweating_.)

“Simon?”

Sipping the hot chocolate, I turn back towards the girls and lean against the hearth. “How do you communicate through other things to talk to someone?”

“That’s kind of complicated to do, especially since you’re new to magic. I can make the call if you want?” Penny grabs her thick book from the coffee table and begins to flip through it mindlessly.

“No, no…” I hope Baz can pick up. “It’s fine.”

With that, I walk out of the study, out of the house, and begin to wander down the road. I twiddle my thumbs along my phone screen once I’m far enough away and ask Baz:

_Can you take a call?_

I don’t expect anything from him. He’s doing a lot of sneaking around as it is, doing research on mysterious cryptids, stalking the Wavering Wood at night. (I told him not to do that, but I know he’s most likely ignoring me.)  But surprisingly, in a matter of seconds, Baz’s face lights up my phone.

I took the picture just before things fell apart. I caught him smiling and knew it was my opportune moment to save that memory.

I miss that simplicity.

Accidentally missing the call, I dial him back. This time, _he_ doesn’t pick up.

And it goes on like that for a good five minutes. He calls, I don’t answer. I call, he doesn’t answer. Both of us are too stubborn and annoying at times to let the other win, but I eventually give in.

“What if I was dying? What if I wanted to tell you my parting words?” I almost laugh at what I say, but Baz grunts.

“Don’t joke about things like that. Where are you?”

It’s amusing how possessive he acts.

“Outside, walking, needing to talk to you.”

Silence evokes the both of us briefly before Baz says, “Find anything?”

“No.” A bench is suddenly at my side. (I must’ve walked rather far, Penny’s house is out of sight.) As I take a seat, I ask, “What about you?”

“Nothing,” Baz replies, But I have been grabbing records from the library.”

“Find anything?”

“Quite an interesting picture of the Mage. Oh, and an article about him… he was calling for revolution.” I can practically feel his suspicion radiate through the mobile.

“ _Baz_ , I don’t want to fight about the Mage over the mobile,” I say as I slump against the back of the bench, crossing my arm over my chest.

“Then I’ll meet you there, possibly. The spell… might work?”

“And what happens if it doesn’t?” Knowing Baz, he wouldn’t do anything idiotic.

“There’s a possibility that my lungs might rip out my shoulders, but I don’t know if that’s true of vampires.”

Never mind, then.

“You can’t do that, Baz,” I start.

If I let Baz hurt himself just to talk to me and argue over the Mage, then I wouldn’t be doing my job of keeping Baz safe.

Last night, as we discussed the Humdrum and any other possibly bad encounters, I knew that I had to keep Baz safe. The Humdrum is using him as a strategy, kind of like how Baz thought I would be if his family caught wind that I blew up the school. The difference is that Baz seems to be fine with it. There’s no sense of terror or remorse every time we mention it. Apparently, I’m the only one that scares him and I don’t understand how.

“I can and will do that, Snow. Now, if I don’t see you in less than five minutes, it was nice knowing you. Have an amazing life with Agatha Wellbelove.”

The indicating beep of my phone lets me know Baz hung up. I groan, sliding my phone back into my front pocket, and sit back, hoping and praying that Baz actually makes it.

Minutes pass by at an agonizingly slow pace, but finally, after about three, Baz appears in a puff of pink smog, sitting on his arse. I can tell he’s in pain, and when he begins to cough, I automatically sink down next to him and rub his back.

“That was idiotic!” I can feel a lecture boiling up in me, but I suppress it. “You could’ve _died_ … again.”

“Funny hearing _you_ call me idiotic,” Baz grunts, thrusting himself from the ground. His words make me want to shove him back down, but I don't. Instead, I take a seat back on the bench.

“I'm smart enough not to use **up, up, and away** on myself.”

In response, Baz shoves me and takes a seat on the bench as well. Our knees touch as he leans forward and folds his hands.

“You would've probably burned up if you even tried. That wand _has_ to be defective…”

“You sure Penny didn't give us back our magicked stick?” In mimicking Baz, I lean forward as well. Now our elbows are brushing against each other’s.

“You have both of them now, yes? Have you tried both?”

A blush surely creeps up on my cheeks under his tantalizing stare. He can't make it any more obvious that he knows the answer—that's what I get for allowing him to know me.

“No, I didn't. But I doubt anything would've happened. I'm defective, not the wand.”

Baz nudges me with my shoulder with a, “Don't say that.”

“Why not? _You_ know I'm right. I may not know you as well as you me, but I know for a fact that you think I'm defective. Just a little bit.”

“Listen, Snow,” Baz grunts, sitting up. His back is pressed to the back of the bench, grey eyes glued on mine. “You spent eighteen years of your life, completely in the dark about magic. You thought you were bullied because you were a freak. Maybe that was they thought. But you weren’t. You were a magician with these fucking monstrous powers. You get ticked off, you spew magic. You are not like us, but you’re not defective. You just focus it differently.”

A hefty sigh passes through me. “What does magic feel like to you?”

Baz stands up in response, holding his hand out for me to take. I do, and he pulls me up. All too soon, he pulls his hand from mine and indicates that I need to follow him.

We reach the mouth of a forest moments later. He begins to fetch different sorts of timber.

“We could do this more quickly if I had some assistance.”

I begin to help him with his cue.

There’s some sort of determined look on Baz’s face as he picks up several pieces at a time. I’m assuming we’re gathering firewood, but why?

After a few minutes, we have a small wood stock. Baz pulls out a matchbox.

“Why do you keep that on you?” I gasp.

“I don’t.” With the flick of the match, a small fire ignites on its red tip. “See it?”

I nod cautiously.

“You see,” he continues, sauntering towards the fire, acting as if he doesn’t care that he could light up like a Christmas tree with one wrong move, “my magic is the flame. It’s in control. When I need to…”

A sudden shift in wind blows the match out.

“Damn it.”

Giggling, I take a seat next to the unlit campfire. “That didn’t go how you wanted it, did you?”

Baz rolls his eyes, flexes his palm, and a much larger flame appears. With a bit of concentration, he shrinks the hovering flame considerably, then turns back to me.

“That’s sick.”

Baz smiles, and it looks lovely in the bronzing shadows of the fire.

“I have control of my power, and when I need it…” With a big huff, the fire spreads from his hand to the wood. It catches fire immediately, giving us a nice, little fire.

“Should I clap? I feel like I need to,” is all I can say.

In response, Baz grimaces and collapses next to me. His legs are sprawled out, feet nearly touching the fire, hands tucked under his head as he gazes at the stars. “Y’know, the stars are beautiful tonight.”

“That sounds cliche,” I reply, but I lie down right next to him. He’s right. They _are_.

For a while, we’re quiet. Crickets chirp in the forest beyond us, stars winking the sky. A chill stirs in the air, so cool that even the fire can’t warm us. So, unnoticeably, we scoot closer, closer, closer to each other, until Baz’s head is on my shoulder and my arm is wrapped around him. For a moment, before I’m exactly aware of anything, comfort rolls through me, from my head down to my toes. Baz’s frigid temperature perfectly counteracts my heat and he seems content with the warmth I radiate.

But of course, I pull away when I realize what we’re truly doing. Baz scuttles away as well, guiltily.

“With Agatha?”

I nod, itching to be back in the position we were in. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” Baz shoves himself up from the ground, holding his hands out towards the fire.

“Careful,” I say.

“I know…”

Another silence. Then…

“Bunce told me to tell you to break up with Agatha.”

“ _What_?”

“I said the same thing when she told me to.” With a small _plop_ , he lays back down next to me.

“Why?” When did Penny start talking to him again?

(Not that it matters. They were friends first.)

“She said it would be best for all of us… you, me, and Agatha.”

“I like Agatha.”

“You seem miserable.”

“Do _not_.”

“If you like her so much, why stalk me on your free time?”

I’m sure I’m blushing like mad.

“Do you like me, Simon Snow?” Baz sniggers.

My freckles probably look ridiculously pale on my tomato-red face, I’m sure of it.

We both sit up, and Baz continues his retaliation.

“Hopeless. You’re even wearing _my_ jumper.” He tuts, standing up.

“The only person who’s hopeless here is you,” I retort, scrambling to my feet. “And I know you snuck in the jumper.”

“And you wore it.”

“Because it’s cold.”

“You’re a furnace.”

_Fuck._

“Fine, _fine_! I wore it because… it smells good.”

Baz _laughs_ . Not a chuckle or a giggle. He _laughs_.

“Awe, ickle Simon Snow’s got a crush on the big, bad Baz Pitch!”

Is he… drunk?

Stepping closer, I can’t tell.

I don’t think he is. He must be having some sort of mood swing because I don’t think I’ve seen him act so batty.

“I think I should go back to Penny’s,” I say, looking at the time on my mobile. It’s near nine and the girls are probably terrified.

“I’m coming with you.”

_What?_

“Why?”

“Because,” Baz says, beginning to head down the road. I trail along by his side, ignoring the want to grab his hand. “Research. We’re allies, are we not?”

“I mean, yeah… but won’t they wonder where you came from?” I raise a brow at him.

“Probably, but you _won’t_ tell them I used that bloody spell, alright?”

I shrug. “Whatever.”

While walking along down the road, I try to focus on everything _but_ Baz. With each passing moment, I want to take his hand and play with his fingers more and more. The need to stop him and pull him down those three bloody inches just to see how well his lips would feel against mine grows with each step. To take him into my arms and hold him… I just about do. I don’t want to like Baz. I try not to like Baz in that sense, but he made this impression, this indent in me that I can’t quite iron out. He’s become a part of me in every way I know.

Agatha, on the other hand, is fresh, new, exciting. I don’t know which way she’s going to take me. I’ve always hated routines.

But Baz… he makes them bearable. And maybe, just maybe, things wouldn’t be routine. I mean, in the future, we’ll have battles together. Because he is a part of me, he’ll be involved with all of the crazy fucking hoops the Humdrum will have me jump through.

We’re face to face with Penny’s front door all too soon. I want to turn to him and tell him, “You’re right, Baz. I do like you,” but Penny opens the door just as I turn to him.

She stares at me for a moment, then turns to the vampire.

“Baz?”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was Coffee & Bloostains, but I think After You is more fitting!
> 
> Also, sorry for the weird spacing, AO3 is screwing up my format.

**Baz**

“I thought you two were fighting,” Wellbelove says almost as soon as I walk into the room. Penelope looks just as surprised, even though she let me in just a minute before.

“Fighting’s not over, I just happen to enjoy being a magician and don't want to lose my magic because of a fucking, magic sucking monster.”

“It’s like a magic vampire,” Simon mutters under his breath, earning a punch from me. A small squeak comes from him and he rubs his shoulder.

“Let’s not bring vampires into this, Snow.” Sauntering farther into the room, I take into account what has been happening. There are a few mugs lying about, leaving me with the impression that they haven't been doing much to look around—probably Agatha’s bidding. We all know she hates magic and would rather be a Normal…

I don't understand that. Simon was _leaping_ to learn things when he finally found out.

She would rather just leave it all behind. Leaving her name behind would be like a human shedding its skin like a snake—unnerving to think about and utterly unnatural.

(Just _thinking_ about someone stepping out of their skin like a bloody serpent is enough to make me shiver.)

“What are you doing here, Baz?” Penny asks, crossing her arms over her chest. Her brows are furrowed rather intensely, lips pouted. It would seem that the only person who would want me here is Simon. He’s staring at me with those dopey, blue eyes. However, he's also pouting.

“Wanted to see how far you've gotten with this pesky Humdrum business. After all, this is important to me as it is to you.” I lean against the hearth, dangerously close to the fire. It's amusing to watch all three of my peers lunge forward. Simon is the only one who actually advances beyond the two and gently nudges me away.

(The warmth he’s projecting heats me up far more than the fire that's blazing.)

“Do you have a death wish, Baz?!” Simon complains, shoving me further from the fire. “Come on, now.”

The way Simon’s face is lit up makes a smile curl onto my lips. It's cute. He's terribly flustered and it was because I was teasing him. Why he didn't tease me back, I don't know. He had every opportunity to. After all, I _am_ stupidly in love with him. He knows it too.

“Little Simon Snow afraid I'm gonna slip and fall into the fire?” I chuckle, trying to pull away.

Snow’s grip is surprisingly tight and _hot_. Before I know it, he’s beginning to fume.

Well, shit.

“Baz, please.” The blue in his eyes are intense and alive; charm and anger are boiling in him, I can see. The urge to swoop down and press my lips to his is incredibly strong.

“I'm jesting, Snow.”

My wrist his unleashed from his grip; I wring it in trying to get the feeling in my wrist back.

“I just want a normal weekend,” Agatha groans restlessly, leaning back against the sofa. Her fingers tangle with Simon’s in an unnatural way once he’s sitting back down. I want to wince at the affection, but I keep a steady grip on my emotions. In front of Simon, I’m willing to show other sides of myself. Penelope and Agatha… They don’t have that privilege anymore.

They lost it when they neglected me in one of my darkest moments.

Given, I was an arse, but I never set another girl’s cape on fire.

That was especially gittish and almost landed me off the football team.

Anyway.

“We need to know what in the bloody hell to do with the Humdrum, Wellbelove. If it’s planning on taking down one of the most dangerous and powerful magicians in the World of Mages, we are especially fucked. Being an Old family only gets you so far, but I don’t think the Humdrum cares for money and status.”

“It goes for power,” Penelope notes under her breath. “ ** _See what I mean!_** ”

A T chart is hastily made in the air with her index finger. At the top, she writes _Humdrum_ and adds the usual underneath.

“So, any luck?” She cocks a brow at me.

“Well,” I say, sitting on the other side of Simon. (I’m not jealous.) “We know it wants to end Snow.”

“How?” Bunce asks as she writes as fast as she can with the tip of her finger.

Simon and I share a look and he nods.

“Are you sure?” I mouth.

Simon nods again.

There are some things that must remain confidential between me and Simon, for now. The nights in the Wavering Wood aren’t to be mentioned. Our midnight rendezvous is under wraps. The conversations in the turret are classified. Snow must know that I am utterly obsessed with him at this point, but he’s either too thick to realize or is amazing at suppression.

Lingering glances, nearly faulty impulse control, and failing words tell me that there’s mutual interest, yet he stays glued to Agatha’s side. I’ve never considered it before, but maybe it’s a fear thing. Simon isn’t quite used to fancying boys. I remember at some point a couple of months ago, when things were good, he took my hand and asked, “Is this gay?”

“I guess?” I said, squeezing his hand. “I mean, if you’re interested in me in that way.”

That was after Bunce called about the wand, after Simon simmered down and I had unpaused Grease. We almost kissed again, but a lingering sister popped her head into the living area and told us to take it upstairs.

We never finished Grease.

“Earth to Basilton!” Penelope’s yell suddenly pulls me out of my thoughts and I realize I must’ve been thinking for a while. Agatha is digging through a plastic bag filled with nail varnishes. All of them are dark, most black.

“Pen, where are your bright colours, pastels? Simon seems more like a periwinkle than a…” She looks at the bottom of the varnish bottle. “Pitch.”

Snow’s eyes dart to me and he attempts to raise his brows. He grows frustrated when he can’t and I try to refrain from laughing.

“Baz.”

My head snaps towards Penelope.

“Me.”

“What?”

“You asked how and I said me. Maybe you should get your ears checked…”

Bunce throws me a deadly glare. “Could you explain _further_?”

“Nope.” I can feel a cocky grin spread across my face.

“You aren’t helping us any, then. You may leave.” She references to the study archway.

I ignore her, then turn to Simon. He looks miserable as Agatha starts on his left hand.

The nail varnish makes him look fit.

“You should start a band,” I say, “and get some of those gauges in your ears.”

Fuel my fantasies, Simon Snow.

Simon snorts, so my smile grows wider.

Just for a moment after I turn back towards Bunce, I notice she’s looking at me with both admiration and disappointment. She grabs her phone for a second, types something in, and puts it away.

My phone buzzes in my jeans pocket.

_He makes you happy. I never see you happy, Baz._

Simon Snow does make me feel happy, alive, even. He makes living dead worthwhile.

As long as Simon Snow is alive, I will be happy. I may struggle and stumble, but I know… I hope his hand will be stretched out to help me back up.

The reason I’m uncertain is that he still has allegiances to the Mage.

I know I would pick Simon Snow over everyone, cross every line, swim every ocean just to see a smile on his beautiful, freckly face. And maybe it’s okay if he didn’t do the same. Being stupid in love does that to you, makes you mental.

Simon makes it worth it.

“The Humdrum is using me as a toy,” I finally answer in full, “kind of like how I thought my family would use him.”

“Oh?” both Agatha and Penelope gasp.

“So, right now, we are allies. I look out for him, he looks out for me.”

Agatha smiles, then looks up at Bunce. The latter smiles back at her.

“ _Please_?”

Penny sighs deeply, then looks at me. “We miss you… and want to bury the hatchet…”

“We want you to sit with us again,” Agatha adds.

Simon has nothing to say, but a blush is rising to his cheeks.

“If I _have_ to.”

Despite the bit of resentment I still have for the ladies, I wouldn’t mind being in close proximity with Simon at almost all times.

Easier way to look out for each other.

“But how will we convince people that we hate each other if we hang out?” Simon looks miserable, but sure that we have to continue the “hate” charade.

“We have mutual friends, we don’t have to like each other.” I would wink if Agatha wasn’t looking at me.

“I have an idea,” Bunce says suddenly. “I’ll be right back!”

She disappears out of the room and audibly stomps up a flight of stairs.

“So, Baz,” Agatha starts with the small talk.

I want to groan.

“Yes?” I grab one of the mugs, the one with the most hot chocolate and “ ** _some like it hot_ ** ” it before taking a sip.

“How’d you get here?”

Simon laughs and I threaten to stomp on his freshly painted hand.

We shoot each other a sideways glance and look away simultaneously.

“Transportation,” I mumble.

A few moments later, a partially out of breath Penelope walks back into the study with a sombre look on her face.

“My dad won’t tell us anything and I’m sure Premal wouldn’t say anything either.” She fans her finger-written words away and slumps in an armchair.

Simon gasps, saying, “Penny! We know things!”

“Like what?” She looks hopeless.

“Well… Baz met the thing. He said it felt like nothingness. It was like losing his magic.”

“I _was_ losing my magic.” Quickly, I push myself from the chair. “I couldn't use it.”

“Where?” Penny goes to spell another **see** **what I mean** , but I hold my hand out.

“It's confidential.”

“If we want to know how to end that thing, we _need_ to know everything!!!” She stands up too, clenching her fists at her side.

“Uh… guys?” Agatha interjects. We both turn around. Simon’s beginning to smoke.

“ _Right_ ,” I say, then place a hand on his shoulder. His campfire smell stays with him, but he no longer smogs the air. “I think it's time for a break.”

“We _just_ started.”

“You just blew the T chart away and I'm _hungry_ , Penelope,” I just about sneer. “Do research while I'm out.”

I don't wear a cape at Watford, but at this moment, I wish I did. Very dramatically, I turn on my heels and head towards the archway. Just as I reach it, however, Snow’s voice stops me.

“I'm coming.”

Before I know it, he’s standing next to me, smiling a bit before heading towards the front door.

 _Okay_ then.

We don't say anything to each other until the house is out of sight and we’re nearing the wood.The fire we left is still burning and I wouldn't mind sitting out for a bit longer after I feed. That moment with Simon… it’s the warmest I've had in almost a week.

When I fed from him… that was truly the warmest.

At first, I wanted to punish myself for taking from a human. That's my code of conduct. _No feeding from humans_. But the guilt subsided as his sweet, coppery blood touched my tongue. I had to seriously restrain myself from taking more than about a pint because if I could've, I probably would have drained him completely.

The experience more than just satisfied me, it… aroused me. If I’d known he wasn't with Agatha, I would've surely taken him if he wanted me to. All my impulse control was gone. I was romping like a madman. But nothing happened.

Regret came crashing in after, running several scenarios in my head.

 _What if_  I Turn him?

 _What if_ I kill him?

What _if_   he hates me?

Simon doesn't hate me, though. And I didn't Turn or kill him. So, things are okay. We are okay.

“Ugh, I hate this already,” Simon says, holding his hands out in front of him. The nail varnish looks great on him and I don't think there are any school rules against it.

“I think you look fine with it on,” I tell him, heading towards the forest. Simon seems to be distracted, so I grab him by the wrist to pull him in my direction.

“Yeah, yeah… I think Agatha is right about the pastel thing, though. That's more… me.” Shoving both hands in his pockets, he strides alongside me.

For a moment, neither of us say anything. Then, curiosity gets the best of me.

“Why did you want to come along?”

“We have to keep an eye on each other, Baz. That's our thing right now. I can't just let you into a forest alone. Remember what happened last time?”

A grimace makes its way to my face. “Yeah, you hit me over the head with the Sword of Mages.”

“ _Before_ that.” Simon shoots me a look.

“Okay, yes. Thank you for caring.”

A hot hand is wrapped around my wrist, so I look at him.

There's a lost look in his eyes, an uncertainty. He is grasping for the words to say, then he grabs me by the collar, pulls me down so we’re face to face, and presses our noses together. His campfire smell rushes up my nose and if I wasn’t so hesitant, I would press my lips to his. I would take every sense of him, I would envelop him. Right here, right now. I wouldn’t care. I’ve waited months. He has too.

“I want to kiss you,” he says shakily, his grip trembling. “I want to kiss you so bad, _Basilton_.”

The way he says my name sends shivers down my spine.

The impulsion to say, “Please do,” overwhelms me. I smother it in the back of my throat, knowing it’s wrong, knowing that he has to think about Agatha, knowing that if one of us doesn’t end it here, Simon will end up cheating on her.

“We can’t, Simon. You're dating Agatha.”

Immediately, he shoves himself off me and takes a seat at the base of a large tree. I sit across the path, quickly grabbing for a bunny I just noticed. I sink my teeth into it and watch Simon figure himself out.

“I want to date Agatha… I want to be with her, try things out with her, be there for her. But it's so _hard_ when you're standing there like some suave motherfucker. You're perfect, Baz. Your hair, your face, _everything_!” Simon doubles over, totally unwinding with a whimper. “But Agatha… she's beautiful and sweet and I want to make her happy. I'm at a crossroads and I don't know which way to go. My heart says you but my brain says Agatha.”

“Don't feel pressured to choose, Snow,” I sigh, setting the animal aside. _I wish I took him._ “But know that I will be here for as long as you want me to be.”

The upset embracing Simon’s features melt into a small smile. “Of course.”

After a minute, Simon moves to sit next to me. Just to make sure he gives me some space, he puts a little less than a metre between us. He reaches out, placing his hand on top of mine.

 _Warm_. He's so warm.

Then, there's a dryness. The wind stops blowing, that familiar swirl of a void enters my lungs, and I wince the moment I realize what’s going on.

My hand sinks to grab Simon’s and I yank him up.

“Baz, what the fuck! My shoulder!” Simon points to the arm I’m holding and I cuss under my breath.

Any other time to accidentally dislocate his shoulder with my inhuman strength would be _great_. But now?

“ _It’s_ here, Simon,” I say, trying to fix his arm. I do with twisting his arm until I hear it relocate, which earns another groan. “I’m sorry, but we need to go.”

“ _Where_?”

For a minute, I question my sanity. I’m staring right at Simon and his mouth didn’t move. The terrified look on his face tells me what it is, however.

The Humdrum.

The Humdrum is standing right behind me.


	21. Chapter 21

**Simon**

When I stare at the Humdrum, I see myself. He is me now, a spitting image, down to the freckle. The only difference: the clothing choice, its sinister smile and its dark, sallow eyes.

Both Baz and I are at disadvantage. The only thing the git in front of me has done with the Humdrum was flirt and I’ve never had a hand at it.

Neither of us moves as it saunters over, too scared to move or speak. I’ve never seen Baz _terrified_ , but he’s standing there, staring at me with wide, glistening eyes. He’s gone pale, paler than his abnormally normal grey skin.

“Basilton,” the Humdrum hums, coming closer, too close. “You’ve stopped visiting me,” it continues, wrapping its cold, glassy arms around his neck from behind.

Heat begins to build up in the pit of my stomach as I watch Baz crumple under its touch, as I watch the Humdrum, _myself_ , attach at his neck. It sucks, its hands roam, and the heat begins to focus itself, right at my chest.

We have to get away.

“ _Stop_ ,” I yell, grabbing onto Baz. Merlin knows what the Humdrum can do to Baz if they touch for too long. It’s made from nothing, projecting nothing, and if it gets a hold on someone for too long…

Baz needs to feel something.

Going to pull on him again, I see that Baz is going weak at the knees, pale as a ghost, and looks as if his mouth is stuffed with nails. The Humdrum laughs against Baz’s neck as he falls to his knees

“Let go!” I scream, feeling my heart race a million metres a minute. I’ve begun to fume and if I don’t get away from Baz, I will hurt him. But leaving him with the Humdrum? I can’t do that either. I’m stuck in a sticky situation that I most likely created myself.

But then again, what if I wasn’t here for him?

What if he had a run-in with the Humdrum without me?

“ ** _Simon says_** , ** _Simon says_** , ** _Simon says_**!” Both hands are pressed to Baz as I recite the spell over and over again, trying to spill some magic into him. My supply is high and his is low. The Humdrum must be taking his magic away, storing it for itself.

“Stop taking his magic!” I continue, staring at myself through tear-filled eyes.

To my surprise, the Humdrum unleashes from Baz and practically floats in my direction. “I take nothing, I am nothing.”

“What?” I practically pant, my hand still on Baz. It feels as if magic is coursing through me (for once) and right into Baz.

The Humdrum’s lip curls, as if it is going to say something, but its eyes fall to Baz and curiosity takes over.

“Peculiar,” it says, standing over us. “Very peculiar.”

“Sod off!” I yell at it, continuing to spew magic into Baz. He seems to be taking in every ounce. I feel myself running empty, the Humdrum must’ve been taking, accumulating Baz’s magic over time.

“I am nothing, Simon Snow,” it says as if it reads my mind. “I cannot take. I am nothing, will never be anything, and grow stronger every time nothingness grows.”

The Humdrum disappears in the blink of an eye.

“Simon, _Simon_ ,” Baz suddenly gasps, pushing me off him. Holding his chest, he sits up, coughing, heaving. A blush rushes to his cheeks due to his recent feed.

Never mind him, though. I feel the magic leaking from me, feeling like gasoline oozing from me and if I don’t stop it, if my jealousy and anger build up too much, this forest will go up in flames.

With much concentration, I stop spewing. So, I check on Baz.

“Baz, are you okay?” I ask, scooting closer to him. I press a hand to his lukewarm, clammy forehead and shake my head. “We need to get back to Watford.”

“ _We_?” Baz coughs a few more times, then slumps back, propping himself up with his hands. “You need to go back with the girls.”

“Baz, the Humdrum nearly _killed_ you!” Anxiety courses through me at the thought. No matter what, I’m almost positive Baz is the person I care about most. More than Penny and Agatha, combined. “I’d be damned if I let you stay at Watford on your own… Crowley, Baz. I can’t let you out of my sight!”

To my surprise, Baz leans into me and trembles as he stifles his sobs.

I wish I could take us somewhere where we could be happy with just ourselves and our magic. I wish I could fly us away to a nice little cottage in the countryside and live a charming life with him. I wish the Humdrum could be put behind us, but as long as it exists, we aren’t safe.

Suddenly, Baz’s hands begin to grope at my back, shocking me. His head lifts from my chest, eyes widening as he stares at what’s behind me.

If it’s the Humdrum, I haven’t any more energy to fight back.

However, the shock turns into a wide smile. Horror swims in his eyes, still, but he looks fascinated.

“What?”

“You’ve got _wings_ , Snow!” Baz laughs in disbelief.

“Wait, _what_?” My hand meets feathers the minute I reach behind.

What in Morgana’s name?

A faint blush reappears on Baz’s cheeks when he pulls out his iPhone and snaps a picture. Hastily pushing it back in his jeans pocket and standing up, he offers a hand to me. “Need help up, angel?”

Heat migrates from my heart to my cheeks at the nickname.

“ _Stop_.”

“You like it.”

I do.

“Well, now we have a reliable way to get back to Watford… I think,” Baz says as he begins to ford towards the edge of the forest. The wings are incredibly heavy, however, so I stumble after I take a couple of steps in trying to follow him.

“Baz.”

The charming, broodish vampire turns around. “Looks like those are in the way.”

“No shit.” Scrambling back up, an instinct nudges at me to spread the wings, my wings.

The minute I do, I feel more balanced.

“Okay, I think I’m good. We just need to get to a clearing and take off.”

We walk along in silence, one of my angel wings sticking out, the other wrapped around Baz since I know he’s probably freezing. We reach the mouth of the forest in a matter of minutes, and once we do, the both of us turn towards each other.

Baz is wringing his hands.

“So,” he starts, “how are we going to do this?”

Great minds think alike.

“I guess… I just hold on to you. Where’s Watford?”

Baz points south.

“Right, come here.”

Just as Baz nears me, his eyes light up. In an instant, he whips his wand out and at the ground. “ ** _By the reins_**!”

Thankfully, rope materializes instead of actual bloody reins.

“What’s your plan with that?”

As Baz scoops up the rope, he nears me, backing up rear first. At first, I question his motives but decide to say nothing when he begins to tie us together at the waist. Once it’s as tight around us as possible, he points his wand to the ropes and says, “ ** _To the spot_**!”

For a moment, the rope glows. It fades after a few seconds.

“What did that do?” I say as Baz tucks the wand into his the waistband of his pants.

“The ropes can’t come undone, so I can’t fall. Now… go.”

 

**Baz**

Simon is beautiful, a literal angel, and with my head cocked in an awkward position, I watch him spread his wings. They span out twelve to fifteen metres across. They’re _huge_ and beautiful.

With a couple of flaps, Simon hovers, and in minutes, we’re up hundreds of metres, peering down on the cityscape. If I squint, I can see the small spat of fire just barely burning now. We’re up high, almost high enough to touch the stars.

Setting off South, Simon wraps his arms around me, tilting his chin up slightly and propping it atop my head so he can see over. As he flies, I’m awestruck by the scenery.

Rolling hills pass by below us, almost as a blur. Speckles of streetlights and wakened homes are tiny but visible, and at one point or another, we pass a lake, allowing us a glimpse of ourselves. Simon swoops down, and when we make eye contact in the water’s reflection, a stupid grin crosses both of us.

In what seems like no time, we land at the gates of Watford. Both of us are still riding out the high of excitement, obvious when we both burst out laughing

I spell the ropes off and they fall at our feet, permitting me to face him.

The smile on his face ignites a warmth in my chest, a flame in my heart. I wish he’d never stop smiling.

“You _flew_ ,” I laugh, nudging one of his wings.

Simon nearly stumbles back, so I steady him by grabbing his wrists.

“I can’t believe I flew.” Another laugh erupts from Snow and I laugh myself. “I sprouted fucking wings and I _flew_!”

“ _How_?” Now I want to know. How in the world could anyone do that?

“I just… thought about getting away somewhere where no one can hurt us.”

“Well.” I nod towards the gate locked shut, guarding the school. Watford is enchanted with multiple protective spells. The Humdrum may romp the Wavering Wood, but that’s outside of school grounds. We’re safe here, for now.

A sudden howl makes Simon jump, stepping into my chest. We both laugh until the sound of frantic running comes in our direction. Simon instantly takes off, his arm wrapped around me. We hover a few metres from the ground.

“See anything?” Simon whispers.

At first, I see nothing while my eyes pan over the grass below. It seems all clear, but then, I notice two red eyes glaring back at me. Whatever they belong to looks like a large, black spot.

 _A black shuck_.

“That… is an omen of death. Ghostly. Simon, oh Crowley,” I say, watching the dog-like cryptid practically evaporate with the shift in the wind.

Giant, angelic wings land us behind the inner wall, and as soon as Simon touches the ground, I pull from his grasp and begin to mutter several sorts of healing spells to make the wings go away one way or another. Simon seems in distress as well, but my touch keeps him calm. After a while, his wings retract, leaving two giant holes in the back of my jumper.

The wings were wicked while they lasted.

Getting up to the turret isn’t hard. The guard is asleep, allowing us to slip right past, and once Simon shuts the door behind him, he collapses on the bed face-first.

“That was quite the escapade,” I say, plopping down on my own iron wrought bed.

“I can’t feel my magic right now,” Simon groans, rolling on his side. “I used it all on you… and those bloody wings.”

“It’ll be back. Your magic wavers anyway.”

Since both of us are obviously tired, I thrust myself from the bed and grab a pair of pyjamas for each of us.

“You know,” Simon says as I hand him his nightclothes, “I like it when you let me see you.”

With the cock of the brow, I take a seat on the edge of my bed. “Elaborate.”

“I can see different dimensions of you, I can see your soft side.” Simon pushes himself closer towards me, our knees brushing against each other. “I like that. I like to know that you’re not a robot.”

I pull my most neutral face. “Robot?”

His glare practically forces a smile onto my face.

“Your emotions… I love watching your emotions, Baz. The way you wear them.” Simon seems to get flustered with himself. A blush rushes to his cheeks and he turns his head away. “I really need to get to sleep.”

Without notice, Simon gets up and changes.

So, I text the girls for him. If I don’t, they’ll probably try to find us. Who knows what’ll happen if they go out in the woods?

I send a simple text to Penelope:

_Simon’s with me. Had a run-in with the thing itself. We’ll recollect on monday._

After Simon walks out of the bathroom, I walk in and ready myself for bed before slipping into my trackies and a jumper.

Simon is already asleep when I wander out. My heart thumps out of time when I take a seat on the edge of the bed. Thankfully, he doesn’t stir. So, I take his hand and say something I could never say to him while he’s awake.

“I’m in love with you, Simon Snow.”

I would flourish my words with a kiss to his forehead, but I think saying what I did is enough of a violation. With the wave of my wand, and the mutter of a few words, the lights are out and I am as well the minute my head hits the pillow.

 

At what seems too early in the morning, my eyes snap open and I catch a glimpse of something, a woman in the corner of my eye. At first, I think it as Penelope and go to close my eyes. But then I remember, she is at her house with Agatha.

I’m able to get a better look at her once I silently roll on my side and am alarmed when I find she’s glimmering, transparent. Her ghostly hands hover Simon like she can’t touch him. A heart-breaking sob fills the room but doesn’t wake Snow.

“My rosebud boy, my beautiful Simon,” she murmurs _just_ loud enough for me to hear.

Simon’s mum.

His mum… is Visiting.

Hastily sitting up draws the ghost’s attention towards me and as soon as she makes eye contact, her already weak presence begins to fade. But she says, “Basilton Pitch… keep my son safe, he’ll learn the truth… you’ll learn the truth.” Just before she disappears, the word, “Vengeance,” echoes through my head like someone whispered in my ear. A warmth lingers on my earlobe as I watch her turn back to Simon, then disappear.

 _Vengeance_?


	22. Chapter 22

**Baz**

Yesterday morning, I was awoken by the bright sunshine and the caress of chilly air blasting through the window. Simon always keeps the window open, so I groaned and went to shove him, make him shut the blasted window. He knows I get cold.

However, when I reached over, he wasn’t there. The bed beside me was vacant, which hasn’t been that unusual thus far, but when I sat up, I noticed a paper resting on the pillow of his unkempt bed.

It read:

_Hey, Baz. The Mage pulled me out. Don’t know when I’ll be back. Don’t wait up on me. You can tell Pen and Agatha what happened last night. You’re smarter than me. Whatever happened has probably been grinding your gears since it went down._

_See you later today, maybe tomorrow._

_-S_

So, I went about my day. I had a private breakfast in the bedroom, took tea at about four, squeezed in a nice, long football practise at seven, and found my way back to our room at half nine. All my homework was finished, so I hadn’t anything to worry about. Plus, Simon was still gone. Because of that, I decided to get a drink early. The catacombs are my regular spot again and have been since I found out about the Humdrum. Knowing Simon, and, well, any of the teachers on campus, they wouldn’t want me to wander off again. The Humdrum seems to be stronger with each visit, and I’d be damned if Simon dropped another fucking h-bomb of a blast.

If I’m correct, and things line up properly, it seems that a new dead spot appears almost every time Simon _goes off_. After talking a bit after the Visiting, Penelope thinks the same. She said she’d pull out articles to confirm it and we could discuss in an empty classroom today, Monday.

If we’re right, that means Simon is creating the dead spots, increasing the nothingness. The Humdrum feeds on that and makes it stronger.

How to defeat it, no one knows.

Today, I woke up the same way I did yesterday: cold air. This time, Simon was there, but he was still asleep, fast asleep. It took a few nudges to wake him up, and once he did, he let out a painful yelp. He said his shoulder blades hurt, that they felt burnt, and when he turned to lay on his stomach, stripping the shirt from his sweaty body, I understood why.

“What in Crowley’s name did the Mage do to you?” I half screamed. The urge to throw something, hit someone, _kill the Mage_ , came in waves. Over each shoulder blade, it looked as if his skin was seared shut. Thick, shiny pads of skin were right over where his wings sprouted the other day and I know the Mage had something to do with it.

“We talked, Baz,” Simon groaned, flipping onto his back.

I became distracted by his freckles for a split second. He is _littered_ with them.

However, the anger came back stronger than ever and I kicked the leg of my iron wrought bed.

“Fuck!”

While I bounced about, hissing under my breath about my sore foot, Sim asked me, “Why are you so upset?”

“I’m not upset,” I sneered, sitting back on my bed. Out of instinct, I grabbed my wand and muttered a healing spell under my breath before putting it away. My foot felt better, but the resentment tightening my chest remained.

And it’s still there.

The anger will definitely help the hateful facade in classes, but my actual state of upsetness isn't restricted from Simon. I’m pissed that he would let the Mage hurt him like that, whatever he did. But then again, what if Simon’s mind was modified with? Memory spells were restricted last year according to the Coven, being deemed a dark art unless used on Normals.

Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure the Mage broke several of his own laws ever since Simon stepped foot on school grounds, but there’s no magic Magna Carta that’s stopping him.

“You look exasperatedly peevish today,” Penelope notes as she sits back down with heaves of breakfast items stacked on the plates she’s carrying. Wellbelove is next to her in the next few seconds. Holding four plates in one hand, a bowl of butter, silverware atop of the plates, and cartons of milk with the other, she drops it all, except the breakables.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” she says, sitting down.

“You know he’s not going to tell us,” Bunce sighs, nudging a milk carton and silverware towards my side of the table.

“According to the yoga instructor I follow while I’m away from Watford, bottling up your emotions throws off your Chakras,” Agatha says to me, indirectly, as she grabs an orange.

“Do you even know what a Chakra is, Wellbelove?” I retort, somewhat harshly.

Agatha goes to respond, but her sight falls on someone behind me and a sticky sweet smile replaces the frustration she bore just a minute before.

When I turn to see Snow, I can’t help but tut. He looks like he’s been through hell and the desire to kill the Mage by ripping his throat out with my fangs has never been so high.

Out of anyone, the Mage deserves it.

Snow says nothing to anyone as he sits down, butters a sour cherry scone, and shoves it in his mouth.

“Looks like you got dragged out of hell by the feet,” I snigger and hate myself for laughing.

I hate having to act like I hate him just so neither of us gets caught by the Mage. Who knows what would happen if he found that we were allies, or more importantly, interested in each other?

“Sod off,” Simon groans, slumping over with a hiss.

Only if I could help him. He told me not to cast any healing spells on his shoulders before I made my way downstairs. We would’ve gone together, but that would’ve been suspicious and he was taking forever to get ready.

I don’t blame him.

As I continue to stare Simon over, a realization overcomes me suddenly.

I haven’t told Simon about the Visiting, about _his_ mother visiting _me_.

Simon was abandoned as a baby. He doesn’t know his mum nor his dad, but I saw one of the two.

I saw his mum.

“Baz?”

A plate of scones and sausage is being pushed towards me by a very perturbed looking Penelope.

“What?”

There isn’t any reason for her to necessarily be concerned, per se. If anyone should be, it would be Simon. He’s shovelling one scone after the other in his mouth, however, so he has his mind on other things.

“Something on your mind?” Penelope says, only shoving the plate closer. I snatch it from her and take a bite of sausage, chew it with my hand over my mouth, and swallow.

“No, not at all,” I say in turn, slumping forward.

Nothing of her concern. Simon has to know first, and even then, I want to tell him in private.

I may just bring him to the catacombs tonight after our little brain session.

 

After that, nothing much happened. We went to class. During passing periods, we would all shoot each other affirmative glances. Simon and I butted into each other a couple of times. In Magic Words, however, I accidentally did something that pissed Snow off.

“Baz!” Simon yelled in the middle of class when I accidentally unloaded an ink cartridge on his test.

Naturally, Ms. Possibelf looked at us with unadulterated suspicion and was over at once. When she approached, she looked at Simon, his test, then me. Shock and disappointment were prominent in her stare.

“Hallway, both of you.”

To avoid any further complications, we left. Simon, who was already under the weather, started yelling.

“I know we’re supposed to _act_ _like we_ hate each other, but _really_? On my test! I was already stressed as it was and now… now…”

Just like that, Simon began to smoulder, so upset that my touch wouldn’t help like it does sometimes.

That was when it dawned on me.

I know that I’m going to get in terrible trouble for skipping the rest of class. Both Simon and I won’t be able to make up our tests.

Saving the magickal world, however, is more important than Magic Words.

“Where in Crowley’s name are you taking me?!” Simon hisses as I pull him down into the courtyard and through the inner gates.

“Research,” I yell back in a mock angry tone, dragging him behind me by the arm. He keeps cussing under his breath as I drag him along and I come to the rueful conclusion that the arm I’m pulling him by is the one I dislocated a few days prior.

Once we’re far enough from the school that I’m not worried about impact, I throw Simon out of my grasp as roughly as possible.

“Sorry about this,” I yell with an uncharacteristically high level of malevolence. The goal is to make him _go off_ with yelling. Last time I tried to make him _go off_ , I did it with distaste. Now, I’m just hoping that yelling is enough to push him off the edge. “It’s for research!”

Simon groans, rubbing both shoulder blades, which provokes the thought of shutting the whole operation down.

With how Simon is already near bursting aflame, the familiar red fog surrounding us, I decide it’s better to have him _go off_ rather than stop there.

Quickly, I run back to the Wall and scale it and in one swift motion, I pull out my wand and say, “ ** _Hear ye, hear ye_**!”

Now, I don’t have to be impacted and he can hear me loud and clear.

“Fucking unleash, Snow! Fire away!” I yell at the top of my lungs, knowing that Simon is hearing it all as he writhes a bit. “Go!”

At long last, he explodes.

The boy is on his knees when I reach him, groping for his shoulder blades. When he notices I’m standing there, he groans, muttering, “Fine.”

“Fine, what?”

“Heal my shoulders!” he snaps.

“Mmm…” I hum, taking a seat next to him. “Don’t feel like it.”

Snow shoots me a dirty look with a, “It really hurts.”

He must know I have a soft spot for him. As I scoot a bit closer, he turns his back towards me.

“What was that for, anyway?” Simon grunts as I mutter a simple healing spell. Once his shoulders roll back, I scoot on my arse slightly to get a better look at him; he meets me halfway by turning his shoulders towards me.  

“Research. Say, what’s today?”

“The fourteenth of December… shit.”

“What?”

Oh. The dance is this Saturday.

“You're not going, are you?” I say, not quite sure if I could stand the sight of seeing Simon dance with Agatha.

“Have to,” Simon groans, falling on the crisp, dying grass under him.

“The winter solstice ball is really fucking stupid. You should skip. I'm sure Agatha wouldn't mind you missing.” A part of me is biased, but another part somewhere knows that Simon would probably have a terrible time trying to dance with Agatha.

“I think she would, Baz… If I want to actually try and have a relationship with her, which I know isn't quite working out—thanks to you—I need to put in some effort as well.”

There's a sick feeling of satisfaction hearing that they're not quite getting on in _that_ way, but I won’t interfere any further. I don't want to be _that_ person.

“Oh, okay.” After shoving myself from the ground and dusting the melted frost from my seat, I hold a hand out for Simon.

“Are you not… going to try to convince me not to?” Simon says incredulously.

“When have I ever?”

Simon stumbles slightly as I pull him up with a little too much force.

“I…uh…”

“Exactly. Now, we should get back to the hall before Ms. Possibelf murders us.”

A smile crack’s Simon’s tense face and we begin to hike back up towards the school.

Walking along, I turn towards Simon and the smile that situated on my face slowly fades. My lips press to a firm, thin line as I think. I could’ve told him about his mum back on the great lawn, but thinking back on it, that probably wouldn't have been the best place, especially since he _just_ _went off_.

“Hey, Snow.”

Might as well make it a date.

We stop walking and he turns to face me.

“Baz?”

“Meet me in the catacombs tonight, okay? There's… something I need to tell you and it's _extremely_ important.”

Simon cocks his head, a smirk on his face.

“ _Really_?”

I want to slap that smug look off him.

“You don't have to, but it pertains to something about your past.” I keep walking, and Simon catches up.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Simon marches silently beside me for a couple of more minutes before stopping. His hand catches my wrist.

“Baz, how in Merlin’s name do you dance?”

I stifle a laugh. “Really?”

Obviously desperate, Simon nods. “I can’t dance!”

“What do you want me to do about that?” I chew my lip to hide the smile that’s working its way on my face. If he’s going to say what I’m thinking…

“Show me how.”

Simon seems so oblivious as he keeps walking. Sometimes I wonder if he sets me up like this on purpose, he opens up perfect possibilities to fall more deeply in love with him. I know how to wait, but practice dancing with him? That is going to be hell, it is.

Part of me hopes he does this on purpose. That other part hopes he’s too thick to realize what he’s doing.

 

School finally ends and the four of us meet in the dining hall. Penelope’s got the material, Simon the food, and Agatha… she's just here for moral support, I guess. I don't think she’s truly interested, she's never interested.

“So, find an empty room?” Bunce asks me the minute she sits down.

Simon and I scoped the school out.We found a small, seemingly unused classroom that would be perfect for the job. After doing a bit of research, I managed to find that door locking spell and cast it, so nothing’s been touched by anyone who doesn’t know the spell.

(There’s a far more complex spell to keep certain people out, which Penelope has filed somewhere.)

“We did. I also have new information that you may or may not know.” Simon and I exchange glances rather quickly.

“Does any of that include why Simon was gone all yesterday?” Agatha finally speaks up, grabbing Snow’s hand from across the table.

This shouldn’t be to my knowledge, but Simon likes having his thumb on the inside when holding hands. Their hands look uncomfortable.

“Nothing happened, I swear!” Simon says in defiance. “We talked about my role in defeating the Humdrum. Even he doesn’t know!”

“I’m sure he does,” I involuntarily state.

That earns me an elbow to the ribs.

After Penelope finishes her tea and Simon gobbles down enough scones for a lifetime, we migrate towards the classroom and situate ourselves once we’re in. Bunce walks out of the classroom to cast a quick cloaking spell on the door and enters once she’s finished.

“No one except us can see the door now,” she beams.

I wonder what spell she used.

Now, to discuss.

 

**Simon**

Baz is right there and my shoulders still ache. The urge to ask him to rub them, maybe try to heal them again is itching at me, but I know that we have more important things to talk about. We’re closer to figuring out how to take care of the Humdrum, after all, and that’s what the World of Mages is most worried about as of now. I highly doubt four young adults can solve this problem, but it doesn’t hurt to help.

Suddenly, Penny rolls out a map of England, which was marked with circles and dates. From what I can see, she hashed out the dead spots and the dates they appeared.

“C’mere, Simon. Tell me if you recognize something—oh, wait.”

Penny grabs a marker from her bag, circling another spot near Knutsford. The entirety of Cheshire looks pretty wiped out with dead spots.

“This appeared a couple of hours ago…”

It hits me.

As my eyes wander over the dates, the places, and the map of England in general, I realize.

“I… am making the dead spots.”

“That’s certainly what it seems like,” Penny sighs, moving from the desks and heading towards the chalkboard. She grabs a stick and draws out our T chart.

“What do we know?”

“It can put nothing into people.”

“The thing looks just like Simon.”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Baz and I spew out multitudes of different things we know.

“And what does it want?” Penny asks, flexing her hand after writing down everything we told her.

Baz’s brow furrows. “It is nothing, takes nothing, and wants nothing…”

The typical vampire piques in Baz as he stands up and begins to pace, tapping his slender fingers together at the tips.

“If it wants nothing… no magic. It doesn’t want magic… What would happen if we tried to give it magic?”

Penny’s eyes light up.

Agatha and I share a knowing glance.

“It wants to live in its state of nothingness! It makes perfect sense! If we give it magic, I think it may just disappear!”

“How do we give it magic, then?” I ask.

“I think… that’s all we need to know right now, honestly. Same time tomorrow?” Penny grabs her bag and stuffs the map in. “Oh, and try to stay calm, will you? I’m pretty sure those dead spots fill his nothingness.”

A smile overtakes me, a laugh following. “I’ll try.”

Penny nods. “Fair.”

The girls leave shortly after Penelope packs up, Agatha pecking a kiss on my lips. That leaves me and Baz.

“I didn’t even get to tell them about my wings.” I’m a little disappointed about that. Not that it matters that much, but it was pretty sick.

“Didn’t get to talk about the black shuck either.” Baz almost shivers at the thought. “It’s going to be the fall of one of us.”

“I wonder who,” I almost whisper, trailing out of the masquerade room with him. No one is in the hall, so we can walk together. “Also, when do I meet you?”

“Just stalk me at footie and follow after. We’ll start at the catacombs for you know what, but... I might try to find the nursery and we can talk there.”

It’s my turn to shiver.

Baz watched his mum die there.

“Is it okay if I ask a lot of questions?”

We stop at the end of the hallway, not wanting to hit an artery where little’uns like to congregate.

Turning to me, Baz sighs. “Yes, but I don’t know if I’ll answer all of them…” He looks down. “You might not even want to talk after what I have to say.”

With that, he’s off.

I follow after a moment, setting a faux malicious stare on Baz.


	23. Chapter 23

**Baz**

In some ways, having Snow watch me while playing football helps. I'm already impeccable at what I do; grace and coordination come naturally to me. Flourishing kicks and passes is easy and fun, and the fact that I actually got to practice instead of run lines made it all the better. From time to time, I allowed myself to glance at Snow and I could tell he was impressed. A smile flashed across his face each time I made a goal and his eyes widened with each striking pass.

However, knowing Simon sees the mistakes, rather be small or I trip and face plant, he’s there to witness it. He's there to see me stumble on my feet and I don't like that. I've done fine without him for the past seven years, no one to notice my mistakes. Now that I have someone I'm interested in, though, I'm afraid of making a mistake.

Despite it all, the good and the bad, Simon burst into the catacombs about ten minutes after football practice, letting out awe-filled noises.

“Baz! What the fuck! I mean, I've seen you practice but… wow!”

The praise makes me want to roll my eyes. I love it, but at the same time, I don't want to accept it.

“I just… played, Snow. I didn't do anything special.”

Simon scuffles behind me as I swipe up a rat and plunge my teeth into its body. I keep my back turned, even though I know he’s seen me before, but some days I'm more self-conscious than others.

While walking deeper into the catacombs, I scoop up rats and drain them. Eventually, we reach a certain tomb and I conjure my wand, pointing it at the dead, frozen flowers laying under the plaque.

“ ** _April showers_**.”

The flowers bloom back to life instantly, misting over with frost.

“You know,” Simon says, running his fingers along the gold platelet, “I came down here once, looking for you. I talked to your mum, I did.”

“I know.”

The both of us take a seat.

Snow winces, looking at me with a rueful stare. “You… heard me.”

I nod subtly, tossing the last rat I drank from aside. I'm rather full, so I’ll probably be a blushing mess at some point tonight, thanks to the blood.

“Baz.” Simon’s hands grope my arm. “I don't think you're a monster. You know that, right? I just… I don't think I quite understood who you were yet, being a vampire. You're not a monster, I don't think you are.”

My hand finds Simon’s and I rest it on top of his.

“I know you don't think I’m a monster anymore.”

That doesn't seem to comfort Simon. He sinks back, crossing his arms over his chest.

We sit there for a while. Running over the ways of how to tell him that I saw his mum only makes me nervous. There’s only one time he finds out and I can’t ruin it. After all, I’m announcing that I met his mum while he was asleep. She was _right there_ and he wasn’t awake for it.

“So…” Simon says after a long moment of silence.

“So.” I heave a heavy sigh.

“Are we just going to sit in the silence?”

Simon is raising a brow at me, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

“No, no… but…” I sigh again.

_What to say to you, Simon Snow._

“I met your mum.”

Snow freezes under my touch.

“What?” There’s a dissonance in his voice.

“I saw her… I saw her the night we flew back.”

We move away from each other. Snow pulls his knees to his chest and I splay my legs out.

Although I’ve seen Simon cry before, a fresh set of tears makes my heart ache. I want to reach out, but I feel so far away.

 

**Simon**

Baz knew. Baz _knew_ , _saw_ , _talked_ to my mother and he didn’t tell me right away. My mum, the woman that gave birth to me, the woman that I thought might have given me up and never wanted me, _visited_. It’s not that she didn’t want me. It’s that she died. My mum _died_.

“Simon,” Baz beckons, grabbing my wrist. His eyes twinkle with concern as I look back at him. “What are you thinking?”

“Honestly,” I gulp, “I don’t know.”

Am I angry? Baz kept the fact that my mum visited from me for two days.

Am I excited that I know where my mum is now, even if she is dead? It’s nice to know where she is.

What I am really feeling, however, which is overruling all of my emotions, is melancholia.

My mum, the woman who gave me life, is dead. Never in my life have I truly met her, but on Saturday, she visited _Baz_.

“What did she say?”

Baz’s finger runs along my forearm as he thinks.

“She couldn't touch you, I think. Her hands were hovering over you very hesitantly, almost. She kept calling you ‘Rosebud Boy’. But she was crying, Simon. She was crying and reaching out for you. And then she turned to me.

“She turned to me and said we will find out our truths… she knew my name, Simon. She called me by my name.” Baz shuddered. “She said ‘ _Vengeance_ ’. I don't know what she means, about me, but I think… I think she wants to you know something, someone and take care of the… problem behind it.”

My headspace is beckoning me, pulling me into a state of silence. But I can't be. I have to talk. Things need to be discussed.

“Do you think she was killed?”

All Baz does is shrug. “I don't know, Simon.”

A smile flickers on my lips, a very small one. In this darkness, it's nice to see a little light. “I like it when you call me Simon.”

After squeezing his arm slightly, I look back at him. “I want to know more about her, find out how she died. I've always wondered who she was, where she was…”

Trying to laugh fails me. It's comes out more like a strained, vibratic sob.

“Simon, you don't have to—”

“I used to think that she was some posh type… like a model or something…” The instinct to wipe my nose with the back of my hand is pushed away when Baz pulls out a handkerchief from his football duffel. “And my dad… maybe a professional footballer. Someday, I thought, maybe they would've sought me out. Maybe they would've taken me back to their lavish mansion and I could live a good life. I wouldn't have to bounce from foster home to foster home when they got overcrowded or the ‘parents’ tired of me. I would be with them. I could go to my father for manly help. My mother could show me love. I would be happy.”

Deep down, even with good going on, I don't think I’m truly happy.

“What did she look like?”

I can tell I'm becoming quieter when Baz leans in to hear me.

“Blue, blue eyes… you got those from her. Oh, and gorgeous, long, blonde hair. You look a lot like her.”

Nodding, I let my legs stick out.

“How old?”

Baz only leans closer and I can see him shivering in my peripheral.

_I shouldn't be doing this._

My arms wrap around him, hoping my radiating heat is warming him up as much as he frigidness is cooling me down.

“She looked… not that old.” Baz’s face wrenches in concentration. “I don't know how old, but young…maybe a little bit younger than my last recollection of my mum.”

 

**Baz**

Just a little younger than my mum.

What if…

What if they went to school together? Penelope's mother was near the same age as well! It would make sense, but did they know each other?

Mum visited me as well. She never mentioned vengeance, but she also mystified me with that “truth” business.

“Simon, our mums… maybe we could connect them together. I would have to do a lot of research, Crowley, Penelope would love this! But when would we have the time?”

We have a Humdrum to take care of.

“Did she lay out a deadline?” Simon asks, resting his head on my shoulder. “Mum just said she wanted vengeance. She wants me to avenge her death.”

“But… how? Who? Where do we start?”

Even I don’t know.

“My dad… do you think he’s alive?” Simon parts from me, sitting up again.

“Who knows…”

“Paternity test.” A smile on Simon’s face grows. “I can get a paternity test… Dr. Wellbelove. Baz, I can find out who my parents are!!”

Endearment fills me as I watch Simon stand up. To join him, I straighten up as well.

“Do it during holiday, Snow. Tell him you’ve always wondered who they were and he would probably be happy to find them. ‘M positive he can also do it magickally. Find out in an instant.”

I begin to head towards the exit.

If I can, I want to find the nursery.

For once, I want to let Simon get a real good look of my incredibly hefty baggage.

“I’ll make sure I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

Squeezing my bicep, he joins my side.

 

Wandering around the Weeping Tower isn’t the smartest. The Mage is in and if he caught us, _me_ , there’d be trouble. Simon would surely be invited into his office for a talk. As for me… I don’t want to know what would happen.

From what I know, the nursery cannot easily be found. The walls of the tower scar over like skin. After the fire, after the death of my mother, the walls scarred over. At least, that was what I told.

“Do you think we’ll find it?” Simon whispers, trailing behind. In certain places, the walls are too thick for two people to walk side by side. He resorted to following.

“I don’t know, maybe. Just look for a—”

Right here.

A sign scrawled with the word “Nursery” in cursive sticks out of the overgrown wall. Rust covers it, but it’s still legible.

This is it.

“I guess… we find a way in,” I say quietly, pressing a hand to the wall. “Time to tell you everything I remember.”

With a nod, Simon begins to grope for the wall, looking for a loose brick or a secret passage. He gently presses against one and it falls in.

“Loose. We might have to blow our way in.” Simon looks back at me nervously.

As much as I want to, it isn't practical to try and bust in. If the Mage catches us, he may be suspicious of what we’re doing.

“Let’s go.”

After taking a couple of steps, I realize that there’s no echo behind mine. Simon is still standing there when I turn around, working on a third loose brick.

“We need to be careful, but I think I can get in.” He looks determined as he works on the fourth, the fifth, and sixth brick.

There's a hole big enough for us to climb in after about five minutes, and as soon as we do, I'm hit in the face with memories.

The room is nothing but char now, but in its grandeur, it was large, beautiful, and full.

All I recognize is the mural of the large rabbit on the ceiling. Otherwise, nothing looks familiar.

It's good, though, to have Snow by my side. It makes me feel a little less alone as I move to the fireplace. It's hard to imagine what happened that one fateful day in 2002. All I have is a five-year-old’s blurry perspective. I'd like to know more, why it happened.

Maybe that’s what _the truth_ is.

“I should research this too.”

Simon claps a hand on my shoulder, then leans himself against me. At times like this, the few inches of height is comforting. I like it when he rests his head on my shoulder.

“You don't have to tell me anything if you really don't want to. It's… probably enough to see the remains of what happened.”

“I want to tell you.” It's not usual for me to just tell someone about my tragic past but Simon… he gets it. Neither of us has mothers and our fathers are near non-existent in our lives. Sometimes, Simon and I can't be any more different. Other times, we can connect more deeply that we might want to admit.

The both of us get situated on the hearth of the fireplace. We’re close, closer than we should be, but I pass it off as comfort.

“What did I tell you previously?”

Simon’s eyes are lapping everything up, a sullenness embracing his stance. Brows scrunched in disbelief, he looks back at me. He must notice the look in my eyes because he shakes himself from his incredulous state.

“Headmistress of Watford dies in vampire raid… but it looks burnt down. _You_ can conjure fire, but that’s a  magician thing, isn’t it?”

Almost like _he_ is cold, Simon scoots closer to me.

So close.

“These were vampires. I’m an exception. Vampire magician. I was bit, Turned. I didn’t… I never asked for this.” I shake my head nonchalantly. “My mother was against them. She should’ve killed me…flammable. We all are.”

Simon’s grip tightens on my wrist.

“Baz, that day you blew up…”

Took long enough, but I’m dreading the question.

“It wasn’t just to draw the Mage there, was it?”

I sit there, frozen. How do I answer that? Do I tell him that I was _done_? Do I lie?

“Was it for protection or self-destruction, Baz?”

Thank Merlin I can keep a stone-face.

“Baz, did you want me to kill you?”

Simon’s sniffles pull me out of my typically broodish state.

This is quite the night for him. I shouldn’t have divulged.

“I didn’t, though. I’m right here, Snow.” A simple squeeze doesn’t suffice. He buries his tawny face into the palms of his hands.

“I would’ve never forgiven myself, Baz!” Simon cries, turning to me. “Why don’t you want to talk about this? Suicide?!”

My hand finds its way to Simon’s mouth and clamps over it.

“This isn’t supposed to be about me, and if you get any louder, the Mage will hear us. Do you want that?” I sneer.

This hushes him. I fall back in position, my arm lazily thrown around him as we look at the remnants of the nursery.

“Now, about my mum… about August twelfth…

“I was only five then, too young to remember too much. It was an innocent time, an innocent world. Magic was fun to do. I learned little tricks that could do as much as turn an earthworm to a toad. Magic wasn't for sneaking around the headmaster’s back or taking care of terrifying entities we know little about.

“But that day… it changed me.

“It was like any other day. I stayed in the nursery while Mum was very busy, when I couldn't be up in her office. Being one of the oldest, I didn't have much of anyone to play with. There was this magic, little trolley in the middle of the nursery—that had little moving figurines and ran itself on charcoal—and I would play with that. And that was what I was doing.

“Then, suddenly…”—I clear my throat, my voice is becoming croaky with emotion—“there were vampires. It happened too fast for me to really remember but… I remember blood and fire, a lot of it. And my mum. She called my name before she blacked out. I remember reaching for her. But then, I woke up in the office with my aunt and dad.”

Simon sighs, rubbing his hand up and down the bicep he's curled up to. Tears have stopped pooling in his eyes and he's awfully quiet. He's probably going into that headspace of his and I don't blame him. It's a lot to take in, after all.

“Do you want to go back?”

Blinking a few times, Simon nods. “We both have a lot to do, research-wise. I know where I begin. Do you?”

“Well, I have a little bit of knowledge. Vampires only raid when they're provoked and as far as I knew… there wasn't any reason to attack.”

Although I deny my extra-supernatural ability, I do know enough about myself and _my kind_ to distinguish when things are fishy.

“Looks like we’ll be having homework over Christmas holiday,” Simon says as he gets up. This time, he offers the help and I take it, almost pulling him down with me.

Once we’re both upright and making our way to the door, Simon stops me.

“You still teaching me to dance sometime this week?” There's a tinge of excitement in his tired voice.

“I mean, if you want.”

A heartening smile graces his face as his cheeks blossom with a light blush.

“Yeah, of course I want to.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Simon**

For the oddest reason, I can't seem to get the enchanted classroom door to open.

Ever since yesterday, it’s been magicked by Penny, hiding it in plain sight so no one but us can enter.

The thing is, I can see it, but it won’t let me in.

Only Baz and Penny are in the room, discussing something rather hotly. Baz must've just fed because a neck vein is prominently peeking from under his dull skin and his face is flushed. Whatever is happening in there must be up for heated discussion and I want to know what it's about… kind of.

Avoiding the confrontation would be great.

It seems the only way I can get in is if I draw attention. I've tried the unlocking spell many times, but nearly started a fire at my third attempt and decided to put the wand away for the day.

Because of that, I glance around and make sure the hallway is clear before I rap my open hand against the oaken door.

Both Penny and Baz look at me, each of their defensive looks melting right off. One glances at the other, raising their brows and gesturing to the door. Finally, it's Penny who opens it, smiling sweetly.

“Come on. In, in.” Instead of letting me walk in at my own leisurely pace, however, she grabs my arm and yanks me in the classroom. The door slams shut, making me jump.

As I set my things down, I gloss over Baz. There's something unusually ruffled about his stance. Tie hung around his neck and belt gone, he looks rather undressed. Baz is that type that keeps his uniform intact until either nighttime or football practice approach. Something must be the matter, but I know if I ask him, he’ll dismiss my question.

(When does he not?)

“So.”

“We we’re talking about ranking. I’m currently number one, but Baz reckons we should be sharing the title.” To support her argument, Penny goes to grab something. However, I’m focused on Baz. He’s thrown himself back in a school chair and propped his feet on the table.

“I’m telling you it’s because the Mage hates me!”

“You were also absent for two months to seek out some uninformed magician—no offence, Simon—and tell him he’s magic. You’re not Hagrid, this isn’t Harry Potter!”

Baz cringes.

I liked the series. I found it quite interesting, actually. Though I never thought I would go to Watford instead of Hogwarts. I didn’t even know Watford was anything other than a town.

“That’s insulting, Penelope. _Really_.” Baz shudders. “I am nothing like Hagrid.”

“You’re a Slytherin,” Penny mutters as she shuffles through some papers.

“I’m a Gryffindor,” I chip in.

“Of course you are, Snow.” With a snap, Baz pulls off his tie rather harshly and glances back my way. “With the whole Chosen One conflict. Though, no one talks about you quite as much as they do Harry Potter.”

“Why would they?” Of course they would talk about Harry Potter. He nearly obliterated the dark lord, earning him his fame. Me? I _created_ something dark. “I’m the Mage’s heir. That’s literally it.”

Baz just shrugs, then turns to Penny. “New issue, by the way.”

“Main focus is the Humdrum, unless it involves it,” Penny replies, setting the chalk aside. Once she’s turned to us, she cocks a brow. “What’s going on?”

“Simon wants to look into his family tree. I want to find out what caused the vampire raid.”

Almost immediately, Penny turns her back to us and begins writing again. “Anyway, anything about the Humdrum?”

“Where’s Agatha?” Not Humdrum related, but my girlfriend is missing. I can’t help but wonder where she is.

“She got special permission to leave to look for dresses for the ball so she can look nice for a very sweet boy that doesn’t even like her.” Penelope’s words are harsh and not completely true, but mostly. Baz and I shoot each other glances before looking back at Penny.

“What’re you getting on, now?”

Turning on her heel rather suddenly, Penny faces us. She looks from Baz, to me, and back to Baz before shouting, “Just get together!!”

“But Penny…’

“It’s not entirely appropriate…”

“What about Agatha?”

“We can’t.”

“And who told you you couldn’t, Baz?” As Penny paces, she gets closer and closer.

Both of us seem to want to shrink and hide.

“The Mage, my family. Simon is a menace to one and I am a pest to another.”

A drawn out, exasperated groan rolls from Penny. “Hold hands under the table in class, make out or fuck or something in the turret, whisper sweet nothings to each other in the catacombs! I don’t care! Have either of you read Romeo and Juliet?”  
“For Crowley’s sake, Penelope! Why do you care so much?” Now Baz is upset again and I’m awkwardly sitting between the crossfire.

“You’re happy with Simon! Simon is comfortable with you!”

“Can we please just get to the Humdrum already?!” I shout over them, exerting myself through standing up. “Fighting doesn’t answer our questions!”

Both of them settle.

While Penny writes out something on the board, I turn to Baz, biting at the skin of my bottom lip. “Are we still practising tonight?”

Pleasantly surprised eyes flicker towards me and a smile dares to spread across Baz’s face. “You sure?”

My heart _tha-dumps_. Those eyes of his could charm anyone.

Yeah, he’s a Slytherin.

But maybe not. He acts like a Slytherin and his background shadows Draco Malfoy’s, but I don’t know if he’d be a Slytherin on the inside. I don’t know _what_ he’d be on the inside.

But then again, he’s constantly wanting to prove himself to me, himself, others...

Why am I thinking about this?

“Are you okay?” Baz asks as soon as I return to the planet earth. His head is cocked to the side, allowing his sleek, black hair to brush against his shoulder. I want to reach over and push some of the hair behind his ear, but I fight the urge and nod.

“Sorry. I was wondering what House you would be in. I got Hufflepuff once, then Gryffindor and I’m claiming to that, but—”

“Snow. I asked you if you were sure if you wanted to still practice tonight.”

“I got distracted.” Shrugging, I add, “Of course I want to practise.”

A few moments go by, both Baz and I looking away from each other. The only sound that fills the room is the chalk squeaking against the blackboard until…

“Slytherin.”

“Yeah, but I could see you in other Houses as well.” I grin, incredulous that we’re still talking about this. “Because you’re brave and smart and loyal… I got Hufflepuff once.”

I just about lose it when Baz giggles, covering his mouth to suppress any other sort of laughter. “You said that… did you think Watford was going to be like Hogwarts?”

“I mean, you did kind of… you know, did the Hagrid thing in a weird way. And this is a school of magick.”

“But we don’t call ourselves witches and wizards and we don’t make up words.”

Speaking of, “Do any of the spells from Harry Potter work?”

“ **Avada Kedavra** can knock someone out, but it won’t kill anyone… It’s more of a prank. Either way, the Mage called it off as dark magick a couple of years ago and no one is allowed to use it.” A frown replaces Baz’s smile and he slumps in his chair. “A sod, he is. Ruining the fun.”

There’s a hunch that the Mage banned it specifically because Baz found it handy.

“Are you two quite finished?” Penny says suddenly, drawing our attention. My eyes fall on the board behind her. Underneath all of what we know, which still isn’t too much, there’s a giant circle with the words _Dead Spot_ underneath.

“We are picking up right where we left off. We’ve already discussed this, but I want to elaborate and you two need to hear me out.” Penny turns her back to us as she adds a little drawing beside the massive circle and titles it as _The Humdrum_ and adds an equal sign between the two. “Dead spots are void of magic, and so is the Humdrum, and dead spots are essentially holes, figurative of course. But… if the Humdrum is defeated, very slowly,”—Penny turns to the board and shades in the circle—“the holes will heal. Magicians will have free rein of their power again. Magic will fill the void.”

“So, you’re saying—” Baz cuts me off.

“To fill these holes void of magic, we need to fill the Humdrum first,” Baz says in a contemplative tone.

“ _Exactly_.” Penny sports an undeniable grin. “Glad you remember.”

Baz looks up, eyes twinkling. “The Humdrum wants nothing. He wants the hole, the lack of magic. He wants to remain.”

“Pretty good team, we are!” Penny laughs, rushing over. She takes the dubious Baz into a bone-crushing hug, then offers an arm out, as if she’s initiating a group cuddle.

I join them, and Baz seems to relax slightly.

After resetting to our defaults, us boys at the table and Penny at the chalkboard, another question dawns upon me. This was brought up last time and never discussed.

“How, exactly, are we going to conjure the magic to do this?” To make myself more comfortable, I loosen the tie around my neck.

“That’s the tricky part…”

“Maybe not that tricky.” Baz swiftly sticks his arm out. “I think… Simon can leak magic. Try to give me some.”

Very hesitantly, my hand finds its grip on his forearm. I’m not great or very stable with my magic, but I think I can understand how to tap into it a bit.

In my head, I imagine turning on a tap.

I just about startle when Baz writhes under my hand and grunts. In seconds, he eases and pulls his arm from my hold.

Just like I tapped into it, I pull from it and the magic bottles back up in me. I feel considerably emptier.

“What… did you just do?” Penny gasps, rushing to me.

To keep her distance, I scoot the chair backwards. “I don’t know how you’d react to it. I don’t want to risk anything…”

A frustrated glare shoots my way.

“How much magic do you think it will take to fill the Humdrum, anyway?” I ask the question that’s been resonating with me.

“Oh, Simon.” A crestfallen mood fills the room like the thick, red smog does when I’m about to _go off_. “You made these holes… the dead spots… I’m pretty sure the only way to do this is to give your magic up. That, or you can never _go off_  in order to suppress the Humdrum.”

_Give up my magic?_

“Think about it, Simon,” Penny says reassuringly. “Think about what would be best for you and the World of Mages.

It’s my turn to slump in my chair and pout.

I just got my magic. How could I give it up?

As I sulk, Penny makes her way back to the nearly full board. However, there’s enough room to make two more sections: _Simon’s Family_ and _The Vampire Raids_.

“We’ll work more on these if or when we get rid of the Humdrum. As for now, tell me what you know.” The piece of chalk waves over _Simon’s family_.

“Vengeance,” Baz and I say simultaneously.

“Okay…” Penny scrawls it down and turns back to us. “Anything else?”

“He’s going to the Wellbeloves’ for Christmas and’s going to try and convince the Doctor to do a paternity test. In the meantime, I’m going to sleuth around in yearbooks and Fiona’s shit. She’s bound to have something.

“Also, I’m going to be in the library tomorrow, finding oracles and records. Might even visit Ebb and talk to her about the ol’ days at Watford.”

“Ebb?” I say, blinking a few times.

“The goatherd. Lives out there.” Baz waves his hand in the north-east direction. “She went to Watford around the same time my aunt did. Always asks how she’s doing.”

“Okay, then. You both sound set. Anything else or meeting adjourned?” Penny gets a swiping glance of both of us.

“I think we’re good for now.” Baz shoves himself from the chair he was in. “Footie. See you later, Snow.”

A surprising smile is flashed my way and I can feel my cheeks heat up under his direct eye contact.

The minute Baz leaves, Penny laughs, saying, “He is _so_ in love with you.”

 

**Baz**

Sweat-drenched and panting, I enter the bedroom I share with Snow. When I walk in, I can’t see him anywhere, but I notice the bathroom door is closed. To announce my presence, I slam the door behind me. Simon either bumps into something or drops a bottle.

“One minute!”

The git steps out literally a second later, dressed in the best he has.

It breaks my heart.

One of the Watford ties is looped and tied around the collar of his old Starbucks workshirt, along with a pair of ill-fitting trousers. He’s grown length and width since he got to Watford (he looks healthy, unlike before), so it doesn’t look right. Thankfully, the Watford issued shoes look formal. Otherwise, no. Nothing looks right.

After analyzing his outfit, I look him in the eyes and near him when I see the self-consciousness in his demeanour.

“I-it’s all I have. I don’t know what else to wear to the ball.” Shoulders slouching, Simon breaks his eye contact with me and stares at the floor.

As much as I hate to think, I would have to be the ringleader of the people that made fun of him for wearing that, for not being able to pay for a nice suit for special occasions. Never, ever could I do that. But bully Baz, he’d have to.

“I have an extra suit you could wear, if you want.” Before I can go to grab his shoulder, I walk to the wardrobe and pull out the two suits I have with me. One is a slick, grey suit with a bloodred tie to go with it. The other is sharp navy with a cream-coloured tie. He’d look great in both of them, so I’ll take what he doesn’t.

Simon seems helpless as his eyes scan the suits. Knowing him, he’d want to politely decline, but he knows the dreadful repercussions if he doesn’t. He points to the navy suit. “That one, please…”

Once placing it in his own wardrobe, Simon pulls off the tie, slips off his shoes, and turns back to me. “So.”  
“Music?” I cock a brow and pull my mobile from a compartment in our desk that magicks open.

“Contemporary or classical?”

I shrug. “I prefer classical, but I also like ballads on rare occasion.”

A smile graces Simon. “Ed Sheeran?”

Definitely.

After setting up a playlist of slow ballads by Ginger Jesus himself, I set the phone aside, cast **_play that funky music_** (horrendous, I know), and join Simon in the empty space of our room. Our room is much bigger than others, given that it was too small to separate into two rooms, so we have ample amount of space.

Snow’s arms go to loop around my neck, but I pull away. “What’re you doing?”

A flush appears on his face. “Trying to dance…?”

“When you dance with a lady, Snow, you let her do that. You want to learn how to dance so you can do it with Agatha, yes?” If I can get him to blush any further, I would love to.

“Oh, oh yeah,” Simon breathes, placing his hands on my waist. I sling my arms around his neck in return.

“Make sure you don’t make it feel awkward. Girls hate it. They like to be close with their partner, but not so close that you’re dry humping. Ah—yes—there you go.” Perfect. This is inappropriately perfect. Snow’s forehead is pressed to mine and our lips are so conveniently centimetres apart from each other’s. A mess of curls itch my forehead, but I don’t mind because the view is breathtaking. I hope he doesn’t mind my sweatiness.

“You’ve got to sway with the music. Moving your feet isn’t necessary, but it’s encouraged.”

Simon does as he is told and steps on my foot first thing. I hiss under my breath.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he says, looking up at me. No longer are our foreheads touching, but the look in his eyes… I want to kiss him, long and hard. With passion, ferocity.

All I can do is spare him a smile and we begin to sway instead. At first, it’s awkward, but as we get more comfortable, forehead against forehead again, things ease up.

 _Kiss me_ fills the turret and we begin to swing to the heartbeat tempo of the song.

Under my touch, Simon is fighting himself. Magic is coursing through him more feverishly and his heart rate goes up.

“Baz,” he whispers my name, minty breath hitting my lips. Before I realize, my arms fall to his waist, his around my neck. We’re close, so close. I can feel everything of Simon: his heartbeat, breathing, shaky breath, the longing, the _restraint_.

Our noses push together, lips brush, and his name rolls off my tongue almost as a moan. “Simon.”

**Simon**

I shouldn’t be doing this. I want to kiss Baz so bad, I want to melt away kissing him. I should want to be kissing Agatha. I want to kiss Baz.

 

**Baz**

“I want to kiss you, Baz. I want to kiss you so bad.” As he says this, his bottom lip drags against mine at a dangerously slow pace. “I can’t kiss you, I want to kiss you.”

“Kiss me,” I whisper back, my longing, my lust, my self-control worn thin. “Kiss me, Simon. Oh my God, kiss me.”

**Simon**

I’m going to kiss him. I can’t fight this. The way he says my name makes me weak. Aleister Crowley, I want to take him right here.

 

**Baz**

He doesn’t. Temptation nearly gets the best of him, but he overrules it by pulling away. As much as I hate it, I’m glad he does. Agatha. His boundary is Agatha and he damn well crossed it.

Both of us sit back down on our respective beds.

“I need to break up with her, Baz. This is driving me loony, it is.”

Simon is working himself up. A faint bit of smoke is billowing from him, but the minute I take his hand, he stops.

“Wait it out, Simon. You need to go home with someone this Christmas.” I hate not taking him home with me, but if he wants to know who his mother is…

“I want to be with you, Baz. I… can’t push it down anymore. I can’t suppress it. I think I—” Simon brings down a tight clamp on his bottom lip. “—fancy you.”

Was he going to say _love_?

If I die, I’ll die a happy vampire.

“Give it time, Simon…” I squeeze his hand.

“I can’t exploit her like that,” Simon says.

“Then tell her. Do you want the paternity test?” I hate to pressure him into anything but there’s one way to find out.

“I…” His brow furrows. “Okay, I will after the dance. I want her to have one more night of good before I drop this on her… I feel like a dick.”

Simon doubles, head in his hands.

My hand moves from his to his back.

“Just tell her. That’s the smartest thing to do. Try and work it out.”

Simon sighs, then nods. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

In three days time, Simon Snow is as good as mine.


	25. Chapter 25

**Baz**

Today, we need to lay low, Snow and I. It’s important we do for a couple of reasons. 

First off, Simon is going to break it off with Agatha today and if I give away my excitement it might cause an attraction to the situation. This isn’t much of a problem. Seeing that I rarely convey my emotions anyway, it won’t be too hard to keep myself contained. Simon, on the other hand…

Secondly, it’s the day of the ball. Classes are being let out early so students can get ready. All we have are term exams and I have it in the bag. It took a bit of convincing to let Simon let me help him, but once he finally agreed, we studied, hard. He nearly blew up the room four times, but in the end, he didn’t. I don’t expect him to make top marks, but I know he won’t make bottom either. I’m surprised he can do the things he’s doing since they’re so advanced and he had a first term year one education level until the Mage took him for himself, but he’s doing great in those means. He was already taking Latin in secondary school, but Greek… that’s a mess. 

Thirdly, the Mage. He cannot know anything. I’m surprised he hasn’t discovered our little chamber of secrets. That’s what Simon decided to call it. Penelope tried to argue, but Wellbelove said that it was good that we acknowledge pop culture when we rarely do.

“What are our spells then, Agatha? Are those not pop culture enough?” I asked her the other day, Wednesday. 

“It’s important to keep touch, Basil. You can’t forget the real world,” she flipped her thin, blonde hair over her shoulder, which fell right back to the place it was previously.

Either way, whatever it’s called, we have to keep it hidden. 

This morning, I decided that it would be good to sit with Dev and Niall. It’s going to be a harsh day between me and Simon, but we’ll make it through. It’s all about strategy, about getting him when he doesn’t expect it. All attacks are physical. I can’t bring myself to make anything personal. I did that once and that earned me genuine hate.

That’s why I insisted he wore my suit tonight, which looks stunning on him, may I add. 

Like clockwork, Simon enters with Bunce and Wellbelove. With the dark-haired, cape-clad magician in the lead, the other two saunter in slowly, talking in low voices and quiet whispers. Agatha looks sullen, but at the same time relieved.

 

**Simon**

The minute I saw Agatha, I told her. I couldn’t wait any longer, I couldn’t pretend.

Penny and Agatha were waiting for me at the courtyard, discussing Christmas plans and what they were going to wear. From what I could hear Agatha say, she bought a crimson, floor length dress with a silver beaded bodice (in her words, not mine), along with silver ballet flats.

“This is a ball, after all. I want to be able to dance. What’s the point of wearing heels if you can barely shuffle?” Agatha said in a chirpy tone. She sounded so excited.

“You’re going to look amazing tonight,” I said, announcing my presence. Sharing a warm smile, I turned to Penny. “Will you give us a moment?”

Nodding, Penny went to congregate with someone about term exams.

“I already know what this is about,” Agatha said in a hushed tone. “I can tell you like Baz, a lot.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t seem upset. No, she appeared somewhat relieved. However, she was confused as she asked, “Why did you try to date me when you’re gay?”

My hand found hers as I put a forefinger to my lips. Lowering it, I told her, “I’m not gay… I don’t know what I am. What I do know is that I did like you, Agatha. I liked you a lot. I wanted to see where we were going because it was so sporadic and I like adventure and randomness. Schedules, though proving helpful here, are not my thing. They’re safe, secure. I don’t want that. I want to find adventure. I thought I could find that with you, Agatha. I did. We both understand the Normals much more than other magicians. We’d fit in rather well, I reckon… but I don’t want that… with you.”

Agatha nodded, a smile sneaking onto her face. I went to question her, but she patted my knee and said, “Thank you, Simon.”

Obliviously, I said, “What do you mean?”

It was strange to hear Agatha huff or even act an ounce un-lady-like. But she doubled, letting out a groan before shooting back up—her hair falling in perfect place—and smiling only bigger. “I… don’t want a boyfriend. Ever since I was little,” she began, leaning against me, “I felt like I needed a man to depend on. Someone to love me… but I figured out, while dating you, that I don’t need one. I’ve had a boyfriend almost every year.” She giggled, shaking her head with a splendid look on her face. “Baz and I went together first year because he thought he had to, but then he told me that he liked boys and it felt weird.

“But… I’m glad you broke up with me. I was going to later. I know you aren’t happy. I can see it. Sometimes I can be a little thick, but I know love when I see it…” 

We both stood and began talking about Christmas holiday while we made our way to the dining hall. 

“There’s something that I have to do, though… and it may require us to ‘be together’.” 

Now, as we walk through the dining hall and between two tables, I spot Baz. He’s sitting with Dev and Niall, who look to be in deep conversation Baz is looking at me, turned towards me. That usual scowl he wears when we’re acting embellishes his grey, Egyptian features. 

“What’re you lookin’ at?” I growl.

Baz only smirks, and as I take another step my foot catches his. 

“Baz!” Agatha snaps just as my face hits the floor.

There was an attempt catch myself, but I was too distracted to stick out my arms in time. 

A guttural, painful moan fills the now silent hall. The lights nearly blind me now that I’m on my back. I’m completely stunned and am almost sure that my nose is broken. Although I know he’s acting, Baz’s laughs sting. 

“Basilton!” A voice, Penny’s, suddenly snaps. She kneels in front of me and directs her ring at the centre of my face before saying, “ **_Get well soon_ ** , Simon…” 

Thankfully, the broken nose no longer aches. However, the blood... 

“ **_Out_ ** ,  **_out_ ** ,  **_damned spot_ ** !” Penny continues, removing the blood from my clothes. She also hands me a handkerchief.

“Come one, Simon,” Agatha says, shooting a convincing glare back at Baz and the gaggle of idiots that believe our charade. 

Once I’m pulled to the table, Penny bombards us with questions.

“So, what was  _ that  _ about? What did you two talk about? Are you…”

“What are you talking about?” Agatha blinks her wide, brown eyes a couple of times. 

Penny laughs, resting a hand on her chest. Everyone is giddy about holiday, but Penny seems extraordinarily elated.

“Sorry, I know why he did that… But what did you two,” —she points at us, a glimmer of joy in her eyes—“talk about?”

Agatha and I catch glances before I look back at Penny.

“We broke up… but didn’t go over the terms and conditions.”

Agatha giggles, saying, “Being a beard is a part of the terms and conditions?”

“Beard?”

Penny rolls her eyes. “Someone who covers as a girlfriend for someone who isn’t out of the closet and is dating another person of the same sex.”

“Partially, then…” Since I haven’t already, I shove a sour cherry scone in my mouth, chew, and swallow. “Say, does your dad do paternity tests?”

At first, Agatha looks confused. “Why… oh!” She leans in closer than I’d like her to and says, “You’re not the only one who thinks you look like the Mage.”

“Er… w-what!?” I sputter, choking on a scone. A fit of coughing overcomes me and I hunch over, trying to recover. I do once the hall falls silent.

To my surprise, no taunting comes from Baz’s behalf, so I turn and find him to be missing.

“Where did Baz go?” I whisper, staring at Penny and Agatha with wide eyes. “Is it because…”

“I… don’t know. I wouldn’t think he would… you know unless he hasn’t…  _ you know _ .”

“Shit!” Both of us were too busy studying. Baz insisted he was fine for a day or so… but did he forget?

“Look for him after you tell me what we have to do to get this paternity test. I’m sure I can convince my dad, but…”

“You already told your parents that I’m coming home with you for Christmas, right?” My foot is impatiently tapping against the floor. I  _ have _ to find Baz. Just the scent of my blood probably triggered him. After all, he loved taking from me. I’d gladly do it again, but I have to find him. 

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll just go home with you tomorrow.” Standing up quickly, I press a friendly kiss to Agatha’s blonde head and say, “See you tonight.”

 

Finding Baz proves harder than I’d like. The first place I checked was the turret. Although I wanted to go to the catacombs, I had to find a way to draw him in. There are push pins in the desk of ours, so I grabbed one, pricked my finger, and walked around. 

The turret, the catacombs, the Wavering Wood, even the chamber of secrets was empty.

Then, I remembered. The nursery. Now that it’s open, Baz may as well wander in and pay a visit.

It turns out I am right. As I stand in the doorway, I see Baz curled up, facing away. The small hole on my finger has since clotted, so I grab the push pin and make another small puncture.

Baz whimpers the minute he smells my blood.

“Plea-th go,” Baz says, voice shaking. Come to look at it, he’s completely ruffled.

“Baz, no. I know why you’re here and I’m not afraid of you. Just… let me feed you, okay? I have a push pin but we can go up in the room and you can cut where you like it and—”

“Anathema.”

Right. 

“Then… just bite me.”

Baz turns around at this. He stares at me like I’m absolutely nutters. “ _ No _ !”

The sight of Baz horrifies me. His mouth is filled with a multitude of sharp, dangerous teeth and his beautiful, grey eyes… they’re black.    
“P-please, Baz. You have to eat, haven’t in the last couple of days…”

Desperation, much like the night in the infirmary, twinkles in his eyes. However, he says, “No, Th-now. I can’th… you can’th… Aga—”

“We made a mutual decision to break it off. Now.”

Since the initial shock of Baz’s appearance subsided, I approach him and kneel down. He cowers, but I grab him and pull him back dangerously close. We’re eye to eye with each other, only centimetres apart. 

“You really th-id?” he whispers.

“Yeah.”

A giant, very toothy smile beams my way. Then, he looks around and points to a broken mirror in the room. “Break me off th-ome of that gla-th. That’ll have to make due.”

Just the thought of broken glass touching my neck sends shivers down my spine, but Baz has to eat before his instinct to kill takes over. He’s gone through quite a few years of not drinking human blood, but I know that he would never forgive himself if he slipped and killed in the process.

“Hold it out, I’m going to…”—a small flame blossoms in his grasp, hovering just barely above his hand—“there. Th-anati-the the gla-th in the fire.”

“Do you ever find it ironic that you conjure something that can kill you?” 

Baz looks at me, unamused, holding his hand out so I can run the razor-sharp edge along the blue flame. 

“Okay… nevermind.” I hand the glass over, the fire in his hand fizzing out. 

“You and Agatha…”

“Done… kind of. She’s a beard.” 

Instead of answering, Baz tests the temperature of the mirror shard on the back of his hand. Nodding, he says, “Come here.”

“Don’t drain me,” I joke, nearing him. The tip of the shard presses to a vein in my neck.

“Thi-th i-th a bad idea,” Baz sighs, creating a small cut. “Hur-th me if I begin to drink too dee-flee.”

Baz doesn’t hurt me at all. No.

The minute his lips touch my neck, I feel like a sparkler. The sporadic, random excitement fills me as he feeds from my neck, but that’s not all he does. At first, I can feel those extra, sharp fangs poking about but soon enough, they retract and once they do, Baz truly attaches his lips to my neck.

Sloppily sucking, nipping, groaning, Baz pulls me into his lap with brute force. A mix of hunger and lust is evident in his actions, marking me neck-down. His lips go from the crook of my neck and down to the collar. Since it’s in the way, he carelessly pulls at the fabric and it tears, allowing him access to my collar bones.

Baz attacks them relentlessly.

Just like last time, the bloodletting was erotic, but now, now that he’s on me, laying me down, pinning me to the ground by the wrists as he dips down to batter my neck with love bites, hair tickling my face, I know I want it. I want  _ him _ .

“Baz,” I whine, writhing under his grasp. “Please, Baz.”

Pulling his head from my neck, he looks down at me. His pupils are dilated, eyes jet black. The fangs are peeking out just slightly, but not enough to break the skin.

“You ready?” he pants, sitting on my hips. I can feel that he’s excited and I’m sure he can… er… feel that I am too, but we can’t do this. Not now, not in an open space or in a  _ nursery _ .

“Not now, not here.” I sit up, butting heads with Baz. We both laugh and then…

I pull myself from under him. For a moment, I thought I would kiss him, but I can’t. Not in this way.

“Simon, did I…”

“I want our first kiss to be more special than this, Baz.” My hand finds its way to his chest, pressing my palm right over his heart. “Somewhere nice, private. As much as I want to… If I did kiss you, just then, it would be just like the first time I kissed Agatha and I want us to make our own, original memories, you know?”

Baz’s places his hand over mine. “Okay… we should go. Class.”

I nod subtly. “Are you… good?” 

Glancing down at himself, Baz nods and shoves himself up. Then, he holds a hand out for me.

I’m up in one swift pull.

We walk out of the Weeping Tower together, not afraid to catch anyone’s eye. However, before we can step onto the courtyard, Baz pulls me aside and grabs his wand.

After he spells my shirt back together and magicks the cut off my neck, we continue towards the school.

“What will we say about these?” I ask, pointing to the hickeys on my neck.

Again, we stop. Baz steps in front of me and pulls the collar and tightens my tie before walking alongside me again. “That should be good.”

While we walk, Baz asks me, “How come it took you so long to find me? Couldn’t you find my tracks in the snow?”

Oh, yeah. Why didn’t think about that?

I go to reply, but as I open my mouth, a growl from behind us stops the both of us in our tracks. 

Baz turns around first and mutters, “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Curious, I try to turn as well, but Baz pushes me towards the school.

“ _ Go _ , Snow. I’ve got this.”

_ Sure _ . I turn around, looking into the eyes of hell.

The Black Shuck. 

“It’s just a bloody dog, Baz. All we have to do is—”

The Black Shuck disappears with the blink of an eye and Baz still seems frigid.

“ _ Go. In. _ ” Baz sounds more desperate and I can see why.

An ugly, antlered hunchback is standing near the wall, staring at us with blinding, white eyes. Moss hangs from his antlers, hands—more like claws—held out, wanting. Baz steps back, pushing towards the front doors of the school.

“ _ If this Wendigo doesn’t kill you, I will. Go. In _ ,” Baz sneers, pushing me again.

“A Wendi-what?”

A shrill, yet forlorn scream emits from the creature in front of us. The closer it gets, the bigger it becomes. Both Baz and I are too shocked to react at first, but once I’m out of my daze, I place my hand on his shoulder and close my eyes, turning on that tap that allows me to push magic into him. 

“Get it!” I tell him, ignoring the people that are walking out, curious what’s happening.

Baz fumbles for his wand and points it at the Wendigo, whatever the hell it is. It’s nearly at us, swiping its hand clear across the accumulated snow. A shriek fills the empty air around us. 

The Wendigo swiped a first year.

Pushing more magic into Baz, I yell, “Take it down! Kill it!”

“ **_Hands where I can see them_ ** !” 

It doesn’t stop. Instead, it dangles the girl by her hair, a sinister smile crossing its skeletal features.

I push more, harder, riding on the edge of exhaustion.

“ **_Eat a cow_ ** , damn it!  **_Eat a cow_ ** !” Baz screams at the top of his lungs, wincing with each ebb and flow of my magic. 

Again, it doesn’t work. 

I push as much as I can.

“ **_Stand your ground_ ** !”

This does something. The Wendigo can’t move from where he’s standing. Now, to get the girl.

Baz directs the wand in the girl’s direction. “ **_And we all fall down_ ** !” 

Instead of checking up on the first year, Baz goes back to the Wendigo. He turns his head towards me as he keeps the wand directed on the foreign creature. “Get that sword and cut off his feet.”

When I release my hand from Baz, I realize just how weak I am. Not only have I been drained of blood, but magic as well. In the moment of adrenaline, however, I mutter the incantation and grab my Sword of Mages. Baz distracts it, so I barrel at the ten-metre creature and slice through each of its ankles with momentum. It falls backwards, so Baz hurries up behind me, watching my back.

The thing seems helpless, however, as I near its head. After one swift swing, it will be dead. Maybe we can keep it alive…

“Kill it, the thing is a cannibal,” Baz pants, shoving me forward.

Blood splatters everywhere the minute I bring the blade down, slapping me right across the face. I grimace but hold the sword up. The deed is done.

“What was that?” I pant, turning to Baz. He looks just as disgusted as I feel.

“A North American creature… How in Merlin’s name did that—”

“Mr. Snow, Mr. Pitch,” the Mage’s voice rings. Baz shudders. I turn to face him.

“Hello, Sir.” I let out another exhausted breath and try to blink the black spots filling my vision away.

“Excellent work, you two.  _ Amazing _ , actually, Simon.” The Mage turns to me, a grin spread across his face. 

I can tell Baz is glaring at him in my peripheral.

“Because of the hefty load you two had to deal with, you will be exempt from your exams,” the Mage says, turning back to Baz as well. “Dealing with a creature like that can be tiresome. Those are usually around human-sized but grow with each human consumed. Looks like he had quite a journey up here.”

“How in Merlin and Morgana did that  _ thing  _ get here, anyway?” Baz yelps, looking distressed.

Crestfalleness overtakes the Mage’s excited demeanour. “The Humdrum must be getting stronger…”

Strong enough to carry a mythical creature over the ocean?

I fight the urge to send an incredulous look Baz’s way.

“Anyway,” the Mage says, nodding towards the Mummers House, “up you go. Get some rest. I’ll see you both tonight?”

 

“What a git!” Baz groans, pacing the empty space in the turret. “‘ _ The Humdrum must be getting stronger _ ’. No, he’s onto us!”

Ever since we reached our room, Baz has been complaining. I’ve been eating crackers and drinking orange juice. He insisted.

“I mean, it probably did with the last time I  _ went off _ .” I shrug, taking another sip from my cup.

“I bet you the Mage had the monster delivered himself!” Baz tears his wardrobe door open and pulls his suit from it. “Wear this one. It would match Agatha’s dress better.”

“Just stop worrying about it, Baz. It’s over. We finished it off. The first year is suffering minor injuries, probably already on her way home.” Sitting up, I stretch up and to the side. “We were a pretty good team, too.”

“But the Mage saw us!” Baz groans, grabbing the suit I was going to wear. “He’s already an egocentric, power-hungry maniac. Imagine what he’ll do now that he knows you can spill magic like a tap, he’ll want it too.”

“But—”

“Just get dressed and go. I won’t be too far behind.”

Baz leaves to get dressed, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I'm curious, what has been your favorite part so far? Let me know!


	26. Chapter 26

**Baz**

Simon isn’t here. I’ve looked all over. He isn’t here.

Why isn’t he here? The git went down before me and he’s been at Watford long enough to not get lost. Why isn’t he here?

Wellbelove and Penelope are crowded in a corner, talking quietly amongst themselves. They looked panicked, well Bunce does, as they speak. I have to know what they say, I need to know where Simon is.

“Bunce, Wellbelove,” I say, making my presence dramatically known as I step into their conversation abruptly. “Any sign of Snow?”

“Quite jumpy, aren’t you?” Penelope heaves, looking just as distressed as I feel. Even her atypical amount of makeup and blue, glittery dressed facade can’t hide her worry.

“Not jumpy, just… curious. Where could Snow go?” I adjust my tie, loosening it just a bit. The rat I nabbed before entering was for extra… stamina if need be. Now, it makes my pesky veins poke out in an irritating manner since I’m nervous, enabling it to cut off my limited blood supply more easily.

“I saw him go with the Mage to the Weeping Tower,” Agatha answers with an undertone of suspicion in her voice. “What if he found the chamber of secrets?”

Why would the Mage take him now? Why not earlier? I know what this is about.

“He’s talking to him about his magic earlier today… Aleister Crowley.” I lean against a pillar we’re located by, running a hand through my crisp, slicked back hair. Although I know I won’t get a chance to dance with Simon, I am considering pulling him aside later so we can talk.

I can almost see it; hand and hand, we sneak around the grounds, up to the edge of the Wavering Wood. The only thing we can hear is the crunch of our shoes against frozen twigs buried under centimetres of snow. I complain about how cold I am and Simon only squeezes my hand to shoot another bout of warmth up my arm and through my body. I can see the condensation of our breaths fill the air and circle around Simon’s head, the moonlight illuminating it to look like a halo. I tell him he looks beautiful. He pulls me closer because I’m shivering. And finally, our noses brush against each other’s. I ask him if he’s okay with it. We kiss.

I can see it, but now that Simon’s not here, I’m disappointed. When the Mage takes Simon, he’s usually gone for quite some time. Not that it’s an issue, really. Agatha is leaving tomorrow. But his not showing up would definitely put a roadblock in our blossoming relationship.

“Earth to Baz,” Penelope says restlessly, shaking my arm. I must’ve been out of it for quite some time.

“Fantasizing?” Agatha giggles, nudging me. Then, her eyes fall beyond the tops of my shoulders and her brows raise. “Wow, he looks fit.”

 

**Simon**

I would’ve been sooner, but like I thought the Mage would’ve done earlier, he pulled me aside and asked me what I had done to help Baz. When we swore to lay low today, Baz and I, we really didn’t and now… now the Mage is on to us.

Not only is he on to us for the Humdrum, but for _my_ magic as well. He seemed fascinated and almost looked mad when I told him that I could push magic into people.

“Yes, yes… perfect,” he said, pacing his office. I sat uncomfortably on a trunk, itching to join my peers in the hall.

“What’d you mean, Sir?” I asked, wringing, and surely wrinkling, Baz’s tie. I’m sure there’s a spell to press it, but it wasn’t in my direct thought at that moment because the Mage, as kind as he seemed, was being intimidating. Baz paints him to be power-hungry and crazed, which appeared to be true as he pondered my abilities.

“Only strong, very strong magicians can push magic into people like that.” The Mage’s twig-like moustache curled upward with his smile. He held his forearm in front of my face and said, “Show me what you can do.”

“With all due respect, Sir, but do I-I have to?” The magic in me is reserved for one more purpose, and as much as I hate to, I know that the only way the World of Mages will be safe is if I destroy the Humdrum before it can get any more powerful. So, I was hesitant. “You saw what happened, you know how it works. I really want to be with my friends at the ball.”

“Simon, I brought you here for a reason.” The Mage snapped his arm back down at his side, shooting me a disappointed glance. (It hurt, he is the only thing I have that’s close to a father.) (Well, until I take that paternity test.) “I can’t have you acting like a petulant child. There is good and bad and I want you to be able to fight with me, by my side. I need to know how our magic, how your magic, works with mine.”

A great, cold discomfort rose in me with the look he sent. He looked mental, dare I say, mad with power. I decided to opt out. “After holiday, I promise.”

And surprisingly, he let me go.

If things go well, I won’t have to show him my power, I won’t be able to.

By the time I reach the hall, I find Agatha, Baz, and Penny all huddled, looking worried until Agatha smiles at me.

The red dress hugs at her hips and falls loosely to her feet. She truly looks beautiful, but when Baz turns to face me, it’s like every cliche dance scene in any romance movie.

Time practically stands still the moment we lock eyes and it feels as if there’s no one in the room but us. If only it were true, if only I could rush towards him, envelop him in a bone-crushing grip, dance with him, and finally kiss him long and hard.

But reality finally makes its way back into view and I know what I have to do.

“Looks like the Chosen One wants to take my companions again,” Baz says cooly, glaring over my outfit. A smirk tries to tug at his lips but he conceals it by pressing them together.

“Get stuffed, Baz. You’re not wanted here,” I growl, adjusting my collar just slightly.

I can see something twinkling in his eyes, maybe excitement. But the familiar cold look returns and he rams his shoulder into mine, leans in very closely, and whispers, “I’ll be over there, listening.” He shoves into me a second time as he walks off, finding those sods Dev and Niall.

Joining the girls, I finally get a look around the hall.

In the corner sits a giant, eleven-metre Christmas tree decorated in school colours, swaying with the music. The tables that usually fill the entire room are parted and grouped in different places of the hall, all draped with silver tablecloths and decorated with sparkling, frosted holly branches and mistletoe. The marble floor is spotless, so clean you can see your reflection. And the chandelier, the chandelier dangles there like an icicle, frosted and silver and swaying and bright with low, blue flames.

“You like it?” Penny bemuses, looking around herself once I’m focused on the two of them. “It’s never been this nice. I think the Mage did it up for you since you’re finally here.”

“Really?” I get another sweeping look at the hall. “Finally? Didn’t he think he found me about seven other times?”

“I… think he knew, Simon, that it was never you.” Penelope tucks a thick curl behind her ear. “Enough about the ball. You need to tell us what happened when the Mage nabbed you. Does he know about… you know what?”

You know what? You know what… you know what…

“The chamber of secrets?” I chuckle breathlessly, eyeing the place in case the Mage walks in. I don’t know if he comes to these sorts of places and we don’t have any code words for when he does. We’re developing that over the holiday. “No, not at all… It’s about the push.”

“The… push?” Agatha cocks her silky blonde head.

“You were out there earlier, right? While Baz fought off the Wendigo?” I shudder at the thought of it. Its massive body’s blockaded now, thankfully. Someone will take care of it before we leave tomorrow, probably the Mage.

Maybe that was why he wanted help?

Should I go back? Apologize?

But I need my magic for when the time has come.

“Simon can push his magic into people, it’s pretty sick.” Penny sticks her arm out so I can give an example, but I nudge it away.

“I can’t… I know that Baz can cooperate with it, but I don’t know how it affects others. What if it… kills you?”

“You’re being paranoid, Si.” Penny shoots me a look and reinforces her position by stretching her arm out farther in front of me.

“This is exactly what the Mage did, Pen. He asked me to show him how I did it so I could fight by his side and we all know that I can’t just… so I can…” I let out a quiet huff at the thought.

Give away my magic.

I know it’s what I have to do, it’s what’s right, but the thought of giving it up when I just realized I had it makes my insides curdle. If there was any other way to fill the Humdrum, drown out its nothingness, I would opt for that in a heartbeat. I love magic, even if I’m not all that good at it. It’s fascinating, liberating, enchanting. Losing touch with it, however, only makes me want to shut myself up.

If I am going to give my magic away, it will be for the World of Mages, not for a power-hungry maniac.

“Don’t think about that right now, Simon,” Agatha says gingerly, taking my hand. “Let’s dance, get your mind off things.”

Dancing only stresses me out more. I can’t do it. Whatever happened in the turret shouldn’t even be called dancing. My feet left the ground once and found their way on top of Baz’s.

Agatha, however, doesn’t know this so I’m going to try my best.

We’re not the only couple on the floor. I can see Trixie and Keris dancing along to the slow, soothing voice of Michael Buble. (I’m surprised there isn’t an orchestra, but I don’t mind Buble; his voice is the vocal personification of butter) and another few people, slow dancing. They seem to know what they’re doing, and maybe they don’t. They all have confidence, however, and I think that’s what’s important.

“I’m terrible at dancing, you’ll need to guide me and be patient if I step on your toes,” I say to Agatha as my hands find their way to her hips. “I tried practising, but… I’m a lost cause.”

“Don’t say that,” Agatha giggles, arms wrapping around my neck. “It takes practise.”

“Oh, I practise, alright. I’m just a tragedy, s’all.” We begin to shuffle side to side. It’s awkward. Partly because I can’t dance, mostly because the person I want to dance with is less than ten feet away from me in any direction. (I can’t see him so I don’t know.)

However, as we move a bit more, it gets less awkward and more frustrating. Every other step I take is directly on Agatha’s silver flat-clad foot and she seems patient and all, but I hate stepping on her feet.

“Let’s just sway, Agatha. I wouldn’t keep stepping on your feet if we did,” I say to her, looking down at her feet. “I’m not good at this.”

Agatha sends me a disapproving look but obliges with a sigh. We go back to swaying, which makes it awkward again. So, I decide it would be good to talk.

“What’s our holiday agenda, Ms. Wellbelove?”

A look of consideration flashes on Agatha’s face as she thinks. “We go to Penny’s on Monday to decorate gingerbread people, the three of us. On Christmas eve, my parents go to multiple Christmas parties, so we’ll stay at my house and we can watch Christmas reruns. Want me to invite B? This will be your first Christmas together.”

Agatha turns us so my eyes can fall directly on Baz. He looks tall, dark, and handsome as he stands against a pillar, sipping on a drink. His eyes are on me with stark intent. When he notices I’m staring back, he looks around quickly before smiling at me.

Turning us around again, Agatha cocks a brow. “What do you think?”

“Please do… I want it to be special for us.”

The both of us fall silent after she nods. We just… sway.

For the longest time, we sway back and forth to the beat of the music. Josh Groban plays, more Buble, Nat King Cole, all of the classics.

We dance late into the night, I lose track of time. Agatha is tired, but she refuses to stop dancing, saying she doesn’t do it enough. She lays her head on my chest. I rest my chin on the top of her head.

Another Michael Buble song comes on. It must be the last song of the night, we seem to be the only ones left, not including a couple of stragglers standing around. Buble, by far, has been Agatha’s favourite and when she recognizes it, her head pops up so quickly that we clash at the forehead. She laughs, muttering profuse amounts of apologies. I find myself kissing her on the mouth.

There was something about the lighting, the music, the comfortable warmness that filled me (I get that feeling around the holidays), and the way she looked. She looked beautiful, her blonde hair pulled up into a curled bun and her dark, brown eyes framed with an appropriate amount of silvery makeup. I got caught in the moment, and the minute Agatha shoves herself from me, I realize what I did.

My mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. Instead, the sound of shrieking from all sides of the hall fills the space and I’m tugged to the side by Agatha.

A loud crash and a rush of cold air fills the hall, the already dim dining area practically goes black.

The chandelier fell. When I turn around and see the ice blisters that broke off, the lights off, I know. My eyes fall on the base, noticing someone’s foot is trapped under the wrought iron the ice was dripping from. Its owner sits on the ground, staring at me with large, grey, glossy eyes. A scowl is on his features, and when he sees me walking over, he looks away.

I set my fake hatred aside for a moment as I mutter the incantation and pull out my sword.

“What are you going to do, cut off my foot?” Baz sneers, fighting tears. I don’t know why he’s close to tears, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry out of pain. But then I realize.

The kiss. Baz saw the kiss.

With a heavy heart, I jam the blade under the chandelier and lift it, allowing Baz to slip his foot from under. He gets up right away once he does and quickly limps to the door. I follow behind, not caring about the repercussions in that moment.

“Baz Pitch, stop!” I growl as I follow him across the courtyard, past the Wendigo, the frozen fountain, the school, the Mummers House. I follow Baz until we’re at the very back, until he collapses, until he huddles in the snow, shivering as more falls on his fragile body.

“Leave me alone,” he weakly rasps. “Please leave me alone.”

“No, Baz… fuck!” I collapse next to him and reach my hand out to caress his cheek. He seems to sense me; in the blink of an eye, my wrist is in his grasp.

Baz sits up, staring back at me with a frigid, penetrating glare.

“Are you okay? Is your ankle okay?” I glance at it and notice it’s in an awkward position. “How did you limp away so fast on a broken ankle?”

“Go away, Snow. I don’t want to talk to you.” Baz shivers, pulling his suit jacket tighter around his body. “I don’t want to look at you.”

My heart lurches in my chest.

“At least talk to me about what happened. Please.” I try to take his hand but he backs away again. “It can help with our investigation, what if it was the Humdrum?”

“It was the fucking Mage,” Baz barks, fighting the tears in his eyes. His breathing his heavy and laboured. He’s going to cry and it’s all my fault.

 

**Baz**

He kissed her. Simon Snow, the boy as good as mine, the indecisive git, the Chosen One, the love of my life, kissed Agatha Wellbelove. I know he’s done it many times before for I’ve seen it. But he was supposed to be mine. After the ball, he was supposed to be mine, all mine.

Of course, it could’ve been for the charade, but it looked real and right and that it was supposed to be that way, that I’m not supposed to be with him even though what we have feels just so right.

They danced for three hours straight, they smiled and laughed and kissed. How am I supposed to feel?

Not only that, but the Mage made the chandelier fall. I didn’t see him, but who else would it be? The fire was magicked alight and I nearly caught fire. I know he wants me gone, especially since I’m rooming with his precious Chosen One, but really?

I’m a mess.

“I doubt it, Baz. He was and is probably still sulking over the fact that I won’t give him my magic…” Simon is staring me with those big, blue ordinary eyes, his breath visible.

“It was the Mage, it was the Mage,” I reiterate, sinking back in the snow.

Simon would never want me. I’m a bloody vampire. And when does anything good go for me?

“Baz, talk to me, please. I’m so sorry. I was caught in the moment… and… and we’re nothing yet. We’re interested in each other, but—”

“Nothing?!” I just about scream, trying my damndest not to cry. “We’re nothing, are we now? Not after I almost shagged you today?”

“Yet!” Snow panics, “We’re nothing _yet_!”

“You bloody mean anything, Snow? Or am I just someone to torment?!”

“Baz, no! I don’t want to torment anyone or you or… I just got caught up in the moment and—”

“Caught up in the moment, aye?” I swiftly stand up. “You do that quite a lot, don’t you? You never acted on it with me, but with Agatha?” I laugh bitterly. “You could kiss her all day if you could!”

“Shut up, Baz!” Simon yells, standing up. He gets up in my face, his height proving to be a disadvantage as he looks up at me. “Shut up! I want to kiss _you_ all day! I broke up with her for a fucking reason!”

“And who pulled away?”

Simon’s mouth shuts, his upset demeanour, the red smog beginning to surround us disappears. Now, he appears hollow.

“She did.”

“Right.” I can’t blink, I’ll cry if I blink. I don’t want to cry over a bloody boy. I don’t want to cry over the Chosen One. “Can you take a gander as to what I was planning tonight?”

“What? Were you going to kiss me?” he whispers with a tremble in his voice.

“Me, kiss you?” I laugh again, angrily. “No, no. I hesitate. I thought _you_ would kiss me, but you would rather put your lips on Agatha Wellbelove’s.”

Don’t cry, Baz. Don’t cry.

“Baz, I didn’t think—”

“When do you, Snow?”

Don’t cry.

“We’re not together, Baz! Therefore, we’re not exclusive. I like you, Baz, I might even—”

“Don’t you dare say you love me, you manipulative git! Don’t you fucking say it!” I scream.

The atmosphere falls silent. All I see is myself in Simon’s glassy eyes.

He doesn’t say it.

“Here I am, thinking that I could possibly be loved.” Now, my self-consciousness takes over. “No one could ever love someone like me.”

Simon doesn’t say anything.

“I’m a fucking vampire. No one could love those. Not even you. You say you’re not scared. You are, Snow. Everyone is.”

“I’m not scared of you, Baz. You couldn’t hurt a soul.” He takes my hand and I regretfully let him. “I am, however, scared of what you’d do to yourself if I walked away.”

Those tears I successfully held back finally flow freely onto my cheeks. I hate myself for crying.

“Why do you care, Snow? Why do you care?”

“Because… I love you.” The words should mend that emotional dam of mine, but it’s like putting a band-aid over a gash. For just a moment, the blood subsides but gushes out in rushes afterwards. “I’m not trying to manipulate you, Baz. I love you. That’s why I care. That’s why I’m not going to let you out of my sight. I… will give you space, but I won’t keep my eyes off you.”

 

Simon means it. It’s been two hours since we got back to the turret and I haven’t felt his eyes leave my body. I’ve been pretending that I was asleep, which he doesn’t realize. But I can tell he’s getting tired. His gaze doesn’t feel as intense and it’s just about one in the morning. Rarely does he stay up that late.

As much as I want to open my eyes and talk, talk about how hurt I am, I can’t. Opening up isn’t my strong suit. Telling Simon that I’m some depressed, angry vampire with a bad temper and jealousy issues will make me feel like I’m on suicide watch, not in a relationship.

But I want to talk nonetheless, tell Simon that I’m hurt and angry that he kissed Agatha. He’s thick, Simon is, and I love him for it, but at the same time, he doesn’t realize just how easily I can shatter. My hard exterior masks the softness I have. I am soft, but I never found someone I could show that side to. Simon’s seen vulnerability, sure, and I want him to be able to see who I can truly be.

I just don’t know if I can trust him anymore.

 

**Simon**

Baz is asleep. He looks beautiful when he’s asleep. He looks beautiful any other time was well, but the way that his face is illuminated with the snow-flickering moonlight makes him look especially gorgeous.

I hate myself for kissing Agatha, for hurting him. He is crushed and I don’t blame him. I would be too. So, I know it would be best to give him space to recuperate. Baz is usually cool and collected and only explodes when he’s beyond tense. I really worked him up. There has to be a way to make it up to him, I know it.

I find myself sitting on the edge of his bed, taking his hand. He feels limp under my touch as I grab his hand.

Sometimes I find myself talking to his sleeping body when I can’t get to sleep. I’m riding on the edge of exhaustion now, but if I fall asleep, I’m afraid of what will happen while I’m out.

“I’ll make this up to you, Baz. I think… you’re being a bit irrational. We aren’t dating. But… your feelings are valid. What you think is valid. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I would never stoop that low to hurt you intentionally.” A strand of hair is in his face, so I brush it away.

“I love you, Baz. I’m ready to be with you. But take your time and be prepared for Agatha to be a beard.”

As bad as an idea that is now that I kissed Agatha because of the mood, I feel as if we haven’t much of another option.

“I choose you, Baz. I will choose you every time. I may seem fickle, but I promise it’s you. It’s always you.”

My parting gift is a kiss to his widow’s peak. I settle back on my bed, ready to watch him until I fall asleep involuntarily.

 

**Baz**

I don’t know how to feel.


	27. Chapter 27

**Simon**

It doesn’t feel right sitting in the Bunce’s home without Baz, especially now that Agatha and I are nothing but friends. The time I do spend here was thinking about Baz or looking at him since he liked to carelessly throw himself in front of the fire in the study.

I guess I just have to fantasize further.

On Saturday, I woke up to an empty room other than a single note sitting on my edge of the bedside table placed between the two of us. It had three simple words that automatically sent dread through me.

_I heard you._

Everything I said was true. I love him. I choose him. Everything I do will be for him. It’s scary to admit that all, but I thought he was asleep. It didn’t even occur to me that he could’ve been faking judged by how limp he was. Now that I know that he was, though, I don’t know how to feel.

Does he love me? Was that confession last night too much? Would he cross every line for me? Would he do what I’d do to see him smile?

God, I love to see him smile. I miss it. I miss Baz.

“Simon,” Penny says, handing over a piping bag filled with frosting. “Stop thinking and don’t worry about Baz. Pipe. We need to finish these suckers.”

“What if I was thinking about something else?” I say defensively, frowning slightly at the plastic bag. My heat is melting the frosting.

Penny notices this and takes the bag from me, placing it on the counter.

“What else would you be thinking about?” She cocks a brow, which raises over her cat-eyes.

“The paternity test? Maybe the fact that I have to give up my magic the next time I come face to face with the Hundrum? I don’t know, maybe those things?” I say tensely. I didn’t realize just how worked up I was until I notice that I’m shouldering.

Probably because I can’t get the fact that I have to give up my magic out of my mind.

Other than Baz, that’s what’s been haunting me.

No one knows when the Humdrum will appear again. What we do know, however, is that it will try to provoke me when it does. Instead of _going off_ , I have to find my way towards it and give it my all.

I don’t want to do it.

I have to.

“Hey, Simon, I’m sorry… I just thought… you know, since… you know… have you even talked to him?” Penny rests her small, chubby hand on my forearm and gives it a squeeze.

We haven’t. He texted once on Saturday to make sure I made it safely to Agatha’s, but otherwise, it’s been all crickets. I know he wants space to think, so I won’t text him. I didn’t even think to ask him if he was coming today.

Now that it’s on my mind, maybe I should.

Would he reply, though?

“Can one of you ask Baz if he’s coming today?”

I give up on trying to decorate the little gingerbread men. I take a bite out of the head of the man I’m holding and slump in the bar chair.

“You text him, Simon. He is your kind of boyfriend now, is he not? And I’m assuming you haven’t talked to him since you asked one of us to text him. He’s doing decent, by the way; told me that last night. Been doing lots of research. He brought home a tonne of records from the library. He learned what spell his mother used on the vampires, though. That’s tearing him up. You should talk to him about it.” Penny gives me a pointed look, piping a border onto the gingerbread man.

“I blew it, Pen. You know that. I told you that. _Please_ text him for me. Please?”

“I’ll do it, I’ll do it!” Agatha groans, pulling her phone out. “He’s not angry at me, I think. He’ll probably answer.”

God, I hate that Baz is pissed off at me. I’m a sodding idiot, that’s what I am.

“Why don’t you just talk to him, Simon? I’m sure he’s dying to talk to you.”

“I’m sure he’s dying to have his space. I told him I would give him space.” I take another bite of the ginger man.

“You also what he’s like. He’s not going to text first, Simon. Just text him.” Penny grabs Agatha’s phone and deletes the unsent text. “ _Text him_!”

A loud, guttural groan unnaturally emits from me while I grab my phone. “I’m telling you, Penelope Bunce. He will _not_ text back.”

A simple _hey_ should suffice, right? But wouldn’t that make me look douchey? Certainly sounds douchey. I decide to go with something better.

_Miss you Baz. Coming over_

“He’s not going to text me back, Pen. You know—”

My phone pings.

_Punctuation is rather useful._

My heart skips a beat at the sight of his reply.

“Told you, Si. Now, text back.” Penny nudges me.

“How, what do I—”

“You’re _kidding_.” Agatha grabs my phone, types something, then hands it back.

_I want you to come to Penny’s, smartass._

“I don’t think it would be smart to call him a smartass right now…”

“Do it,” Penny and Agatha say simultaneously.

I hit send with a groan and no more than thirty seconds later, he replies.

_Talk shit, get hit, Snow._

“Shit,” I whisper, staring at my screen. Both Penny and Agatha are laughing now; Baz must not mean it, but with everything ending as tense as it did, I don’t know.

“Tell him you wanna take it outside,” Agatha giggles.

“Er…”

“God, you’re hopeless!” Again, she snatches my phone, types something, and hands it back.

_Aight, mate. Take it outside?_

“Why are you making me sound like an absolute chav? I know my background isn’t pretty but I wasn’t a trouble child, for Crowley’s sake!” I say as Agatha reaches over to hit send before I can erase it. A penetrating glare is shot her way before my attention is diverted back to the phone screen.

Those three little bubbles pop up, disappear, pop up again, and then:

_Come out, come out, Simon Snow._

“Go out, Simon,” Penny says, nodding her head towards the foyer.

“Wait, w-what?” Stumbling to my feet, I finish off the man and glance back. I don’t see anyone standing at the door.

“Go. Now.” Instead of saying anything else, like informing me of what the hell is going on, she turns her back towards me. Agatha does as well.

Hesitantly, I make my way towards the door. There’s no way Baz could get here… okay, there is a way, but he’d have to be an absolute idiot to do that again.

However, when I open the door, my eyes fall on a tall, grey bloke that’s peering down at me with narrowed eyes. “Who’s throwing the first punch?”

In contrast to his nonchalant demeanour, I freeze. There’s an urge to slam the door on his face and turn around, but before I can, Baz pulls his arm back…

I flinch.

He nudges my arm with his fist.

“You really thought I was gonna hit you?” he asks, amused. “Blimey, you really don’t get sarcasm, do you?”

Baz steps into the house and I follow, closing the door.

“I do, but last time we really, actually talked, you were pissed off and I didn’t… I wasn’t sure…”

“I wouldn’t do that, Snow.” Baz leans against the front door jamb, looking rather relaxed. “I… was rather vexed. But now…” After taking a deep breath, he seems a lot less calm. “I need to talk to… you.”

“About?” The kiss? His mum? The Humdrum? Too much is going on at once.

“Everything.” Baz grabs me by the wrist and pulls me to the study. “ ** _Open Sesame_**.”

The doors swing open dramatically the same time I say, “Waste of magic.”

Once we’re in, Baz closes the doors, bolts them with a spell, and nods to the couch with his chin.“Sit.”

From there, Baz migrates to the hearth and conjures fire, lighting the timber in the fireplace.

“You seem… I don’t know. Oddly… I…”

“It’s awkward, I know, but we have to talk or it will stay awkward. Now,” Baz says as he turns on his heels. “Have you taken the paternity test?”

“No, not yet. Tomorrow, actually. If you want to stay, I’m sure Penny wouldn’t care. She’s going to be there tomorrow…” The thought of finding out who my parents are is yet another wave of anxiety that constantly crashes against me. Sometimes, I forget. Other times, it’s the only thing I think about. “Do you have any idea? Agatha is sold that it’s… the Mage.”

A breath stifles in Baz’s throat. “The Mage?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” So Baz can get a better look, I look him dead in the eyes.

 

**Baz**

There seems to be an uncanny resemblance between Simon and the Mage. They both have that bronzey, brown hair that likes to change with the lighting. (As of right now, Simon’s hair appears as if it’s a blazing flame, surely because it’s reflecting the fire.) Simon has an inability to grow any sort of body hair whatsoever. He has, like, one chest hair and he told me he plucks it because he doesn’t see the point of it. The Mage seems to find some trouble in growing body hair as well; the moustache he tries to sport looks like he glued bloody pubic hair to his top lip and called it a day. Snow’s eyes are like his mother’s, almost everything else is, except his nose. It looks like… it belongs to the Mage.

“Fuck.”

“Do I?” Simon begins to wring the bottom of his jumper. (I think it’s one I left a long time ago. Little small, the sleeves hit right above the wrist, but still cute on him.)

“Yes… fuck.”

 

**Simon**

Baz looks frustrated, and I don’t blame him. We want to be together if Baz hasn’t changed his mind. That’s been established. But the Mage, the Mage would never let us see each other. The fact that I could quite possibly be the Mage’s son would cause Baz to never be able to see me. This is some Romeo and Juliet bullshit, but I believe we will be able to sneak behind everyone’s backs… if he’ll have me.

“Enough about that,” Baz sighs, taking a seat next to me. “Let’s talk about the next thing on my mind. My mum.”

“Therapy?” Shimmying to the edge of the couch, I allow Baz the space to lay out as if he was on a chaise lounge. Baz rolls his eyes and sits on the opposite end of the couch from me.

As much as I want to continue to push Baz’s buttons, I know it’s not smart. My body finds its way to the cushion next to Baz’s. “Talk to me.”

“I… uh…” Baz is never at a loss for words. Just as he goes to grip the cushion of the sofa, I hold my hand out for him to take. Just for a moment, he stares at me with hesitation in his eyes. Then, something miraculous happens. He entwines his fingers with mine. A sad smile crosses his face, his eyes falling to the floor. “My mum essentially killed herself that day. Guess my behaviour runs in the family. I know the spell now, too.” A bitter chuckle rolls from him. “She killed herself. I bet she Turned and didn’t want to live with the fact that she’s a monster.”

“Baz.”

“That’s how she saw them, my mum. I know, I just _know_ that if she lived, she would’ve killed me before I could wake up after being Turned.”

For a moment, silence envelops us. We sit there, hand in hand, thinking different things. My mind is on the fact that Baz is so thoroughly convinced that his mother would kill him. A mother’s love is supposed to be the strongest bond known to man, the deepest magic anyone knows, why would she kill an innocent five-year-old?

To put him out of his misery, surely…

That doesn’t make it make it right.

A question suddenly clouds my mind. Looking back at Baz, I ask, “Why a nursery?”

Baz’s posture straightens. “Whoever planned it knew she could come immediately. I was in there. Vampire raids only happen under direction. I cannot, for the un-life of me, find out who caused it, though. All I know is that it was a personal attack to… get her out of the way.”

“It was _not_ the Mage.” I can practically see the look in Baz’s eyes.

“I’m not ruling it out, but I think it’s time to move on… and maybe take a stroll. Want to ask the girls to come with us? It’s about the Humdrum, just going over the plan….” Baz shoves himself up from the couch, pulling me along with him. We find our way to the kitchen, walking into a rather tense atmosphere. Agatha is gazing down at a picture intently and slowly looks at us, eyes still lingering. “What did Baz say your mum looked like?”

Baz’s eyes fall to her hands as well, instantly grabbing the picture. For the second time today, he chokes out an exhale and hands over the picture. “Simon, meet your mum… and your dad.”

The photograph he’s holding out shows me a beautiful, broad-shouldered woman with bright, blue eyes, the blondest hair I’ve ever seen, and a giant smile going from ear to ear. The man next to her, long-haired and all, stares back at me and I realize, that’s the Mage.

“We don’t know that yet,” I whisper, not daring to remove my eyes from the picture. “We don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, Simon. Don’t be surprised tomorrow,” Agatha says, turning to decorate another gingerbread lady.

_Don’t be surprised…_

I know I will be no matter what.

After spending a few more minutes eyeing the photograph, I ask the girls, “Do you want to go on a walk with us? There's a forest not too far from here… We can show you where we took down the Humdrum last time.”

Penny turns around, interested. “Oh?”

 

“When we get back, I say we all sit by the fire until it’s time for me and Simon to go. You want to stay with Pen and come over tomorrow?” Agatha glances back at the two of us. Baz and I are moseying along. The girls decided that a brisk walk would be warmer.

Baz glances at me through his peripheral. “What would you be comfortable with?”

“Sounds fine to me.”

Ideally, we would all be in the same house, including Penny. I don’t know how Agatha’s parents would react, though. Having four, hormonal teenagers under one roof surely gets a bit exhausting.

Agatha nods in acknowledgement and turns back around. When she does, Baz pulls me off the path we were following. We conveniently come across a clearing where two tree stumps stand across from each other. Only about a metre or so is in between the two, so we’ll be able to have a close conversation.

“Shall we?” Baz gestures to the stumps.

I take a seat and he follows.

“What are we talking about now?” I nudge some of my bangs up into the beanie I’m wearing. Baz looks disgruntled at the fact that I did but dismisses it quickly.

“I want to know… are you okay about… you know what.”

My parents? “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay not to know… just, you know, if you ever need anyone to talk to…”

“I get it.” I send a small smile his way. “Thank you.”

“Now… about Friday.”

Although I knew this was coming, I feel my chest tighten.

“Baz…”

“I… admit. I _was_ being a wee bit irrational, but it really did hurt to see you kiss her…” Baz pulls his bottom, lip between his teeth. “You looked in love.”

I’m not in love with Agatha. “It was the song, the moment, the setting, the mood. It was wrong, Baz. I… could never do that to you again. I didn’t even realize what I was doing until she pushed me away. I… do that, get lost in the moment as we’ve already discussed. But Baz, I want to get lost in the moment with _you_. I want to have those moments when it feels like there’s no one else in the room, when time freezes. I want to lose myself in you, Baz, in a good way. I want to be your warmth, your light, your joy.” I grasp his hand. “I want you, Baz.”

A forlorn smile crosses Baz’s face, tears possibly pooling in his eyes. He looks so beautiful sitting there. The snow catches in his hair, which frames his full-looking, grey face. His cheeks are tinged pink, partially from the cold, mostly because of what I had to say to him. If I could get up closer and finally kiss him, I would, I would do it right now.

“Are you okay in the sun by the way?” Stray thought.

Baz chuckles deeply, nodding. “I’m all right at the moment.” For a moment, he looks down. Then, “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “I’m bad with… words, kind of sometimes. I wouldn’t say I love you without meaning it.”

This answer seems to satisfy Baz. Before I know it, I’m on my feet, staring him in the eyes as he looms over me. Our chests just brush against each other’s as we stand there, our condensated breaths fogging the air in front of us. Foreboding holds still on Baz’s face, and longing.

“What if we don’t work out?” he whispers, stepping just a bit closer. Our chests are pressed together. I wrap my arms around his neck. Baz wraps his around my waist.

“Don’t think about that right now,” I say, my eyes wandering to his lips. “Just…”

 

**Baz**

Simon Snow kisses me in the middle of a snowy clearing, his arms wrapped around my neck as I hug his body to mine. It’s awkward at first. Unrehearsed, nervous. But as his lips figure out my own, it becomes warmer, softer, like it works.

One hand moves from his waist to his hat. I pull it from his head and tangle my fingers in his hair. It feels so right.

 

**Simon**

Baz’s lips are soft and supple. Fighting off the moan in my throat is hard when my lips meld with his so perfectly. This is perfect. Baz is perfect.

 

**Baz**

“Baz,” Simon moans my name, earning a groan in return.

I’m losing myself in Simon Snow.

 

**Simon**

This is like a cliche love movie. We stand in the snow, letting it all down, holding, snogging, loving each other. Time has stopped. We are alone. I love him. I want to take him. Baz is mine. If only we weren’t in the middle of a clearing. If only Baz obliged to laying across that sofa. But he didn’t and that’s okay. I would die kissing Basilton if I could. He is mine.

 

**Baz**

From this day on, Simon Snow is all mine.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do note that in this chapter, there will be mentions of molestation. It is a part of Simon's past and I wanted to put this up for anyone who needs a warning.

**Agatha**

Simon was happy, very happy. When he and Baz rejoined us on the trail hand in hand, barmy smiles on their faces, I knew that they must’ve made up. Baz was flushed, Simon’s lips noticeably fuller. I’d say they had a proper snog and I know for a fact that it was Baz’s first. After waiting a day, I still haven’t asked, but now… Now I shouldn’t. Today’s a big day for Simon. Even though he has a clue of who it could be, he needs to confirm who his father is.

Later yesterday evening, I filled Baz and Simon in a bit, letting them know what her name was.

“Lucy Salisbury, best friends with Professor Bunce at one time or another. They stopped hanging out when her boyfriend became too controlling.”

“Typical Mage behaviour,” Baz noted, earning a nudge from Simon.

“Keep going, Agatha.”

“We don’t know where she went. She simply fell off the map a year or so before you were born and now… well, she’s dead and wants to be avenged.”

“And she wants me to keep Simon safe.” The boys shared a warm smile at that.

A day later and we still don’t know exactly what happened. Baz reckons the Mage killed her. I think she died in childbirth. Penny and Simon don’t know.

I don’t suppose we’ll find out either, considering paternity tests only tell you who your parents are.

But as we sit here, waiting for my father to announce that he’s ready to see Simon, I notice just how unenthused he is. He hasn’t attempted to make conversation with anyone. Instead, he’s taking refuge in holding Baz’s hand. He can’t go in there with Simon, of course, but they’re relishing every moment they have until the door swings open. The fate of their relationship lies in that test. (Okay, I’m being overdramatic. They’ll still date if the Mage happens to be his father. I’ll just have to intervene as a beard.)

(Definitely not looking forward to that.)

“What are you going to do if you find out that it is the Mage?” Penny asks, nudging at his arm with her shoulder.

Simon does nothing but glance at her before looking down. A small squeak comes out when he opens his mouth, nothing more. Shutting it, he shakes his head and leans against Baz.

Baz seems to know what to do. With his free hand, he gently rubs Simon’s forearm and says, “Use your words, Snow.”

A look of frustration crosses his face, his brow furrowed and lips pursed. Again, he parts his lips but shakes his head.

Those blue eyes turn to the floor.

“Just… let us know, ok—”

Simon starts to smoke, so Baz gets up, pulling his hands from him and places them both on his shoulders. “Simon.”

The smoke billowing in the air ceases, and Simon slumps against Baz’s shoulder and buries his face in the crook of his neck.

Baz just cups his shoulder and soothingly circles his thumb into his skin.

Minutes tick by and it feels like hours. But finally, after an agonizing amount of waiting, the office door cracks open. Baz slips back into a chair and puts a safe distance between him and Simon just as my dad opens the door. He peers out at us with a kind smile, eyes flickering towards Simon. “Are you ready, son?”

 

**Baz**

For just a second, Simon’s eyes flicker towards me like he wants me to join him, but I know I can’t because Dr. Wellbelove is under the impression that he’s dating Agatha. Shortly after he looks away from me, he stands and follows the doctor into his office. The door shuts with a click, and we all turn towards each other.

“What are you going to do if Simon is the Mage’s son, Baz? Do you think it would still be wise for me to be a beard?” Agatha asks quietly as we circle up to keep a private conversation.

Does he? Do I? Knowing Simon, he would probably consider what I’m thinking. Plus, we haven’t even officially become boyfriends. We fancy each other, sure, but nothing is official. That’s why Simon didn’t stop himself from kissing her.

Crowley, that hurts to think about.

But it’s over. Their flame went out and he quickly kindled ours. In a matter of time, we’ll be blazing bright.

Even though it is over, I don’t quite know how I’d feel to see Simon and Agatha hold hands. I shouldn’t be jealous, but I can’t help but be.

The fact of the matter, however, is that I have to protect Simon from someone, I’m assuming the Mage, and if he knows we’re in cahoots or snogging in the turret, Simon would be in the hands of the power-hungry maniac.

So, Simon needs a beard.

“It would be smartest if he did. If the Mage caught us…”

“I don’t even want to thank about that.” Penelope shudders. “I’m sure he’d pull Simon from the turret.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” I sneer.

“He would surely try,” says Penelope, leaning forward in her seat.

“Over my undead body, he’d try.” I sit back.

Agatha pulls me back in by the collar.

“How about we stop talking about things that will stress us out. No matter who his parents are, Simon will come out, shaken. He never knew who his parents were, he thought they just abandoned him! He was in foster care for sixteen years of his life! Think of ways we can cheer him up.”

“Sour cherry scones.”

“Cuddling.”

“Movies.”

“Football game.”

“Hot chocolate.”

“Gingerbread home making.”

“A good snog.”

“Baz.” Both Penelope and Agatha shoot me a glare.

“What?”

“Be sensitive, for crying out loud!” Penelope says, shoving me.

“Hey.”

“Seriously, think. Don’t say the first thing that’s on your mind,” Agatha adds, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Have you ever encountered a teenage male?”

The girls roll their eyes.

“I think we should let him talk about it if he wants to. There will be a lot on his mind.”

A solemn quiet envelops the room at the thought. There’s always so much on Simon’s mind, but the weight of knowing his parents, as well as the thought of having to give up a part of himself sometime soon, will take a good chunk out of him.

Sometimes I regret observing him, pulling him, taking him from the Normal world. If I hadn’t, I’m sure he would’ve been normal, living a normal life. He wouldn’t be thinking about his parents, he wouldn’t have found himself having to give his magic up to destroy the Humdrum. There wouldn’t _be_ a Humdrum. Instead, he would’ve remained Simon Snow, the quirky but friendly barista at Starbucks in London, not Simon Snow, the Mage’s heir, the Chosen One, the boy who’s torn apart at the seams by the million and one things constantly raging on in his head.

At the same time, I’m glad I met him. I’m glad I fell in love with him. Out of all of the people on this earth, I know he was made for me and I was made for him.

The both of us are absolute wrecks. We break down. We fire away. We soar. Best of all, we match.

I don’t know how long I’ve sat there, thinking, but next thing I know, my head shoots up at the sound of a creaking door. Simon is standing there, holding his breath and wringing tissue paper between his hands.

In a voice I barely recognize, he says, “Lucy and Davy…”

My first instinct is to jump up, pull him aside, and ask him if he needs anything in a low voice, but Dr. Wellbelove steps out so I have to refrain.

Penelope and Agatha do this instead. I simply stand behind the two and follow them to the study. Agatha shuts the doors behind her, giving me the liberty to rush to Simon and take his hand.

“Baz,” he croaks, staring at me with bleary eyes. In an instant, his arms are wrapped around my neck, nose buried in the crook. Not only is he shaking, but fuming as well. “I want to explode, it hurts,” he rasps, squeezing me.

In return, I close my arms around him and pull him close. I can feel his aggravated heartbeat, the shear stress, his sorrow and anger. However, as I hold him, he no longer fumes.

We stand that way for a while, holding onto each other for dear life, like the world is going to end. Simon’s world is ending as he knows it, at least. My nose is buried in his curls, inhaling that unnatural scent of campfire that can never quite seem to leave him, even when he does take a shower. All of his weight is on me.

Eventually, though, after a good ten minutes of hugging, he untucks himself from my neck and looks me in the eyes.

“The Mage… my dad…. I…” Simon shakes his head, frustrated. “No. I can’t.”

One of my hands finds its way to his hair. I begin to stroke the soft curls atop his head. “Don’t be afraid, Simon. I’ve got you.” I squeeze him to prove my point.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Penelope intervenes, pulling Simon by the arm towards the sofa. “Agatha and I are going to go out to the store to grab some things. We’re going to try to make scones and we’ll get some Nutella for your hot chocolate. Oh, and a gingerbread home. I think Tesco sells those. Anything else?”

Simon takes a seat. I do as well.

“No.” Blinking a few times, Simon rests his head on my shoulder.

“Okay, let us know if you think of anything.” Agatha wraps her arms around him from behind and gives him a quick squeeze before bouncing off with Bunce.

When they both go away, Simon looks up at me and says, “I have so many questions.”

The words that roll off his tongue are lazy and drawn out, unlike his typical speech pattern. He’s never completely fluent, but he seems beyond exhausted. It’s early in the day, but I would be as well if I found out my dad was the fucking Mage.

“Want me to close the doors?” I ask quietly.

He nods.

Both doors bolt shut with a small incantation and the wave of my wand.

Snow climbs onto me like a bloody koala and cuddles into my chest. I lay back and he spreads out. A couch isn’t the most comfortable place to be, but it’s better than a bed in this house. If something _were_ to happen, I certainly wouldn’t want it to happen _here_. Not that it would, considering Simon’s state, but who knows?

“You’re quite heavy,” I say, plaiting Simon’s hair as it hangs in my face. Hopefully joking with him will put him at ease just a bit.

Thankfully, this does just slightly. He looks up at me with a lazily amused look on his face.

“Prat.”

“You think so?”

Simon nods before his head sinks back down to my chest.

For a few minutes, no one says anything. I plait his hair. He wraps his arms around me in a bone-crushing embrace. But after moments pass, Simon mumbles something I can’t quite catch.

“Come again?”

“Why did he leave me in foster care when he was there all along?” Sitting up, Simon straddles my hips but he takes no notice as he starts to fume again. That certain spark of anger is glaring red in his eyes. He’s pissed. “Does he not know how terrible it was? I got used to it as I got older, but I used to be mute, Baz. Couldn’t talk. There was this one time when a… a foster parent…”

Simon’s head hangs in indignation.

Sitting up, Simon’s back to sitting in my lap, bust he hasn’t looked up.

“What did the foster parent do, Simon?”

A knot forms in my stomach at the thought of what a foster parent could do to shut up a child like that. There’s one thing I have on my mind and if it’s true, I swear to Merlin and Morgana—

“I-I-I…” his cheeks become a flagrant pinkish hue, “was mo-molested.”

—I will kill them.

My grip on Simon becomes all the more tighter as I try to fight back my anger. First off, the fact that the Mage was idiotic enough to send a child that he could take care of perfectly well blows my mind. Wouldn’t he have wanted to help Simon curate his magic, control it? Secondly, if those monsters are still out there, possibly hurting children, and I knew about it, I would go haywire.

Rip their throats out, that’s what I’d do.

“Simon,” I say, trying to disguise my anger, “I won’t let anyone touch you that way again, you hear? Never. And if I ever make you uncomfortable…”

Simon shakes his head, scooting closer to me. His eyes are weighing heavy, the blush fading from his cheeks. “T’happened a long time ago. I just want to know what the Mage… er… my dad would do if he knew what I went through.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be called your father.” I slip back on my back since Simon is knackered. He instantly sprawls across me again. “No one deserves to be called your father if they abandoned you like that.”

“What if my mum ran?” His sleepy, blue eyes open just enough to peer up at me from my chest. Out of newfound habit, I begin to run my fingers through his curls again.

I didn’t think about it that way, but if I was in her shoes, I would too.

“She was pregnant, it wasn’t her fault she died, nor yours. Out of a series of unfortunate events, you ended up there. But the Mage should’ve known where you were.”

Simon shakes his head. “No.”

“And why not, Snow?” Although I shouldn’t be flustered, I am. Simon was touched by someone as a child, I would kill them if I could, but I refrain from feigning it. He needs comfort right now.

“It was bad,” he drawls sleepily. “I went through shit, but who knows what shit I would’ve gone through if the Mage found me? I can imagine the life of being raised by the Mage all I want, but who says something terrible wouldn’t have happened in that life as well? Terrible things happened, Baz, but I found you in this lifetime and I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.”

A smile beams brightly back at me but fades as sleep finally takes over Simon.

All the anger diffuses with that smile, at least for now. Nothing can touch him now, not when he’s safely in my arms. No one can hurt him. No one _will_ hurt him.

“I will protect you at all costs, Simon,” I whisper, my eyes fluttering shut, “no matter what.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Near smut, I tried my best? Tell me what you think!

**Baz**

Christmas Eve is festive this year around. Typically, I’m at home with my family, helping the parents wrap the presents from Father Christmas or keeping Mordelia from peeking into the library. Although she cannot be in there, she _has eyes_. Usually, I threaten to throw Father Christmas in the guest bedroom with the wraiths, which sure enough scares her off, as well as the other children. But I don’t have to worry about that this year. No, for once, now that I am of age (I was last year, but my family insisted I stay), I can congregate with my friends. Of course, we see Wellbelove at one point or another, but I don’t get to mingle with them.

Also, this is our first Christmas, me and Simon. We haven’t called it official yet, but yesterday, after kissing him a bit, I think he’ll ask me to be his soon. Again, I’m hesitant to be the first to ask. Words fail me when they flourish for him, oddly enough.

Speaking of Simon, he’s been doing much better. After admitting a darker part of his past which I’d never imagined to happen, he seemed tense and even began to act self-conscious. He kept smoothing down his hair and picking at his nails. Sometimes, he even hid his stomach by crossing his arms over his lower torso.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing?” I asked Simon the sixth time I saw him doing that. His eyes were a bit shifty, looking from one place to another.

“I… am gaining weight.”

“Well, yeah. That’s what happens when you eat food. It’s natural. You look healthy, Snow, not like a stick when I first met you, despite the fact you worked at a food chain.” I offered him a slice of an orange I peeled and took a bite of my own after he took his.

“You said I was heavy yesterday.” There was a look of uncertainty on his face as he sat across from me.

“I was trying to joke with you. It was a hard day for you yesterday…”

“Yeah, but—”

“Say, if I laid on top on you, d’you think I’d be heavy?” I took another bite as I anticipated his response.

After thinking, he nodded.

Other than that, he seemed decent the rest of yesterday. The past was never brought up again and I don’t know if or when it will be. I’m the only other person to know other than his past social worker, apparently.

Simon seems to be in a relatively good mood today. The both of us are sitting on the study sofa as Agatha directs Penny where to put certain ornaments on the tree. It’s a no-magic activity, according to her. Just to be screwy, I might mess something up later (nothing that can’t be fixed). I still find it so strange that Agatha doesn’t want the magic touch. Crowley, she might as well swap places with Simon. She could fill the Humdrum!

Of course, that’s wishful thinking but if she could trade with Simon…

As much as I look down on Normals, maybe it’s a good thing that Simon will be rid of his powers, though. They don’t quite work with him most of the time. There’s more magic in him that he can manage, it’s probably why he can push magic like he does. Essentially, he’s a vessel. A cracked one at that. Magic isn’t a part of him, but it’s in him all right. It just ebbs and flows at inopportune moments.

“Baz, wanna help the girls?” Simon says suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts.

I look over at the two, Penelope balancing on a ladder, muttering something about magic being easier, as Agatha keeps a grip on the metal of the ladder. They look like they’re struggling all right, but I want to be right here with Simon, holding him. It’s more comfortable to nuzzle into his side and talk about our holiday plans, and, well, what we’re wanting to do tonight. Everything else, the Humdrum, the Mage, every other stressor in near sight, is thrown away with the holiday spirit. Surely, the demons haunt him while we don’t talk, but I’m trying my best to get his mind off things.

“Do _you_ want to help the girls?” I ask after a while of thinking. I sit up slightly on the sofa and envelop him in an icy-cold hold as he radiates heat through my body.

“Do _you_?” Simon cocks his head and I roll my eyes.

Although it’s cute, it’s also annoying when Simon’s being thick. “How do you expect anything to get done if you can’t answer me, Snow?”

“You asked first,” he says defiantly, lodging himself from my arms. “Yes, I do want to help the girls.”

“You do that,” I say, waving him off. “I’ll lie here, basking in my own self-loathing.”

I stretch myself across the length of the couch, grabbing my hot chocolate on the way down.

“You know, you’re being a real party pooper, Baz. We invited you here for a reason,” Agatha says, helping Penelope down from the ladder since Simon’s taken to holding it.

“I came here for moral support and snogging,” I reply before taking a quaff of my beverage. “Say, have any booze?”

“You want to get drunk on Christmas Eve. _Really_?” Penelope rolls her eyes, but heads towards the study door to get some, presumably.

“Why not?” I say, turning to Simon. “Want anything to drink?”

A bashful look flashes in his eyes. “I’ve never…”

“You don’t have to drink a whole lot if you don’t want to,” I shrug, sitting up. “Only if you want.”

A great look of concentration wrenches up on Simon’s face before he nods. “Okay, fine… make sure I don’t over-do it, though. Aren’t people coming over tonight?”

“Why we’re decorating,” Agatha answers.

“You know if you don’t pick up the pace any, we’ll have to use magic to finish it off.”

This hurried her slightly. Simon hands her ornaments at a faster pace.

“There was Baileys, homemade if I’m not mistaken.” Penelope steps back into the study, holding a big, festive bottle filled with the Irish cream and inspects it slightly before placing down on the coffee table. “These aren’t Christmas gifts, are they?”

“Mum always makes more than she can give, we can drink it.” For a moment, she gazes around the room. “No one has some deathly sickness that can kill us if we all swig from the same bottle, do they?”

Simon’s eyes fall on me. “I’m pretty sure vampirism is only contagious via fang, so I think we’ll be fine.”

Right he is.

“Shall I take the first drink?” I say, finally standing up. In one hand I grab the bottle. The other is outstretched towards Simon. He tucks himself into my side.

“I think we should all make cheers to something, then maybe we can bring out the Christmas crackers?” Simon takes the bottle from my hand, popping it open with his thumb.

Agatha nods in agreement.

“Well, I wanna make a toast to Baz… I also wanted to ask him if he would fancy being my boyfriend.” Simon turns to me, holding the Baileys in the air as he continues, “That is, if he’ll have me.”

If I’d already fed today, I’m sure I’d be red as a tomato. Although I knew he would ask, but I didn’t expect it to be now, or in front of two other people.

I turn completely, wrapping my other arm around him. His lips are tempting, but his three-moled cheek will have to suffice in front of everyone else. I kiss each mole tenderly, then place one more to the mole above his brow. That furnace-like heat of his blazes when I do this.

“I-is that a yes?”

“Tell me what you think, you git,” I deeply chuckle before taking the bottle.

“Hey!” Simon yelps, snatching it back. “Don’t make me wanna break up with you.”

I smirk. “You never would.”

I get an eye roll in response. After drinking deeply from the bottle, he passes it on to me.

“I thought you said you’ve never drunk before.”

“It’s not hard to get it down when it tastes like sweets,” Simon rebukes.

I wave him off, then say, “A cheers to Simon Snow, my _boyfriend_ , the Chosen One, and the best bloke to have around.”

I save the pleasantries of divulging my feelings, take a swig and pass it off to Agatha.

“To freedom.” She drinks.

“To Micah, for being a trooper.”

 

The bottle makes several rounds before finally being empty and by the time it is, everyone’s words slur a little more than they usually do, except for Simon.

He’s drunk.

Instead of finishing off the study without magic, I spell it decorated. Penelope and Agatha decided it would be a good time to play truth or dare between the two of them, so that leaves me with babysitting the drunken Snow leaning against my shoulder. He’s been quiet. Surely those wheels of turmoil in his mind have been turning. I hope he’s not thinking too deeply.

The purpose of tonight was to think of everything other than.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask him eventually in a hushed tone.

The lights are off now, the fire blazing bright. The study is as picturesque as a Christmas Card with tinsel strung around the bookshelves, a wreath over the decorated mantle, and a candle-lit tree perched in the corner. This little nook is highly inviting, a nice place to congregate. It will be nice that we have the room to ourselves all night. For once, Agatha said, the parents are allowing us to stay in here.

Simon sits up slightly, nudging the paper crown from the Christmas cracker back on the top of his head. “Too much.”

“A penny is too much?” I chuckle.

Shaking his head, Simon slumps. “In my head.”

We shouldn’t have drunk anything. It’s entirely my fault.

“Do you want to talk about it, love?” I ask, holding him closer. I would lay down with him again but I’m afraid of anything that might possibly happen if we do.

“Don’t know,” Simon says, tears rimming his eyes. “Not here.”

“Where?”

Instead of speaking, he points upward.

So, we go upstairs.

After bolting the door closed behind us, I join Simon on the edge of the bed. He instantly slips his hand into mine and whispers, “I’m scared.”

“And why is that?” My thumb rubs a soothing circle into the webbed skin between his thumb and forefinger.

“The Humdrum. The Mage. Everything.” A single tear rolls down his cheek. “Us.”

“Us?” I scoot back onto the bed and Simon follows suit, collapsing on top of me.

“Do you want damaged goods?”

“Who do you think you are talking to, Snow?” I gasp, staring at the boy in disbelief. “I am the definition of baggage.”

This gets a chortle out of Simon.

“Okay.”

“Hey,” I say, tilting his chin upward, making sure his bluest eyes are looking into mine, “you are not damaged goods. You can’t be insecure around me, all right? I love that you’re a fucking mess.”

Simon blushes. “You said _love_. Do you… love me?”

“Do the stars shine at night?”

Simon actually thinks about this. “Sometimes… There are sometimes those nights that they don’t…”

“They always shine, Simon.” I chuckle. “So thick.”

I earn a slug in the arm.

“I just said that I loved you and that’s what I get?”

Simon giggles, sitting up. He hastily straddles my hips, leaning forwards with each hand placed over either pectoral.

“You always make fun of me.”

“I like getting a reaction out of you.”

“As do I.” Simon leans in closer, hovering just above my lips. A sultry look flashes in his eyes as he only inches closer minute by minute.

“You’re drunk,” I breathe, fighting the urge to sit up slightly to meet his lips.

“Hmm… so are you.”

Simon leans in so I don’t have to.

This kiss isn’t as awkward or shocking as our first, so I melt into it much more easily. Like a natural instinct, I cup the nape of his neck.

In return, he deepens the kiss, running his tongue along my bottom lip.

Nice.

When I part my lips for him, he immediately dives right in… more than I expect.

Like he knows what he’s doing, he begins to rock back and forth, letting little grunts out and into my mouth as he becomes a bit tonguey.

I pull away, breaking the tension.

Simon shoots me a look of disappointment.

To compensate, I roll him onto his back and straddle him.

Porn has prepared me for this. I am not an expert by any means, but…

I straddle him, rocking my hips slightly like he did, grinding down a bit as my open mouth finds its way to the crook of his neck.

My favourite way of showing my love is through lovebites and he knows this. I can just barely see the bites I gave him Friday, so might as well give him new ones.

 

**Simon**

Either Baz is amazing at what he’s doing or I’m turned on more easily when I’m drunk. It’s probably both, considering the alcohol is giving off this warm, fuzzy feeling.

I wonder if Baz will take me tonight. I certainly hope so. It would be an awfully nice Christmas present.

The minute Baz begins to nip and suck at the already tender skin of my neck, it heightens the ecstasy coursing through me. His hips are merciless as he presses himself closer to me, making sure we’re as close as we can be without taking our trousers off. I quietly moan his name, only making him work harder and more relentlessly.

Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.

 

**Baz**

“ _Basil_.” I moan at the sound of my naming rolling off his tongue so lazily and press my pelvis against his, rocking more steadily and in a quicker pace.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” I groan, knotting my fingers in his hair. His collarbones are begging to be kissed, suckled, nipped, so I tear his shirt off. _Tear_.

This really gets Simon going. He presses against me, panting heavily.

Instead of paying attention to that, I lean down and press open-mouthed kisses to his clavicles, making sure to mark every inch.

“ _Oh_ , Basil,” Simon groans, tugging at my hair once his fingers are entwined.

I moan myself, my lips migrating from his collarbones, to his chest, and all the way down his happy trail. Just before I can unbutton his trousers with my teeth, however, someone bangs on the door.

Simon grabs a pillow and shoves it in his face to muffle a long, drawn out moan.

I glance at his crotch and smirk slightly.

My job is done… on Simon’s behalf. I glance down at myself and sigh.

“I need’a have a wank. I’ll be in the shower,” I whisper to him, standing up.

“Baz, Simon, out!” Agatha groans.

Turning back to Simon, I pull the pillow from his face. “Wear the green pyjamas and change your pants, _please_.”

Simon nods.

 

Meeting back downstairs isn’t as awkward as I thought it would be. Neither Agatha or Penelope seemed disturbed, so that tells me that they didn’t hear or simply chose to ignore it. Either way, we’re all now gathered in the now-empty den, the telly turned on with Rudolf playing.

Simon looks a little distracted… but in a good way. A smile is curled on his lips and he’s twirling a lock of my hair around his forefinger.

“Is there any mistletoe in here?” he asks.

“By the front door,” Agatha answers mindlessly from the loveseat.

The boy shoots up and pulls me towards the front door. He directly places himself underneath the parasite of a plant and smirks.

A sense of boldness strikes me at the oddest time. Instead of letting him initiate anything, although provoking it, I wrap my arm around him and swoop him in for another kiss.

This one, despite the one upstairs being quite fun, feels so much more substantial. It’s nothing to slip a tongue into someone’s mouth, but when the charge, the passion, feels the same in even a standard kiss, you know there’s something great.

This assures that we’ll be better than all right.

I deepen the kiss again, but we part for breath and I rest my forehead against his.

As I stand, looking down at him and all of his bronzey-haired, blue-eyed, freckle-skinned glory, I know my whole world is right in my arms.

Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.


	30. Chapter 30

**Simon**

I can hear nothing but my heartbeat when I wake up. The sun isn’t shining, there aren’t girls at the foot of the bedpost trying to wake me and Baz up. We’re not even in Agatha’s bedroom.

We’re outside, lying in a giant, empty plot of land, the four of us. Now that I’m awake, I can hear the violent whir of wind that spins around me, snow blowing up with it.  Stars still twinkle in the sky, the moon winking back at me.

I don’t remember coming here, wherever we are, and whenever I hear a confused groan not too far from me, I know Baz is just as lost as I am.

“Where are we?” he grumbles, sticking a hand out to help me up.

“I… don’t know. _Why_ are we here?” Looking away from Baz, I see Penny and Agatha asleep, comfortable in the snow. “Why are we _all_ here?”

Baz’s words almost go up with the wind, but I can hear them just faintly. “The Humdrum.”

The loud heartbeat that is a steady tempo in earshot suddenly stops.

The Humdrum.

“Now?” I ask, stepping closer to him.

“It doesn’t wait until it’s convenient,” Baz sighs, walking towards Agatha.

Instead of moving to assist, I just stand there in solitude.

The world feels as if it's closing in on me, choking me, taunting me. The winter chill is creeping up on me for once and I’m frigid. The coldness is not something I’m used to or quite enjoy, but as I stand there, thinking about the very thing that’s going to be stripped from my core, vulnerability comes out to play.

The Humdrum likes to get me where it hurts. That’s why my whole world is right here, who knows how far away from everything else. Right now is the calm before the storm. I know something else will most likely come out before the Humdrum makes its presence. Anything to get me to _go off_ and if it doesn’t make me obliterate the countryside, I’m sure I’ll receive a visit from it in the flesh. I’ve never been summoned before. That’s new. I’ll think of it as a Christmas present.

“See anything?” I call, finally walking towards him and Penny. Baz cast Agatha off, he knows she wouldn’t want to be in the middle of magick warfare.

Penny, however…

“I don’t know how well you two would hold up if you fought by yourselves,” she says the minute I grab her arm to assist her up. “You’d die, I reckon.”

“I killed a Basilisk.”

“We took down a Wendigo, _together_.”

Both of us blink at her, wearing blank faces.

“And? We’re about to handle something intense. The Humdrum probably knows that you’re planning to—” Suddenly, she clutches her hand to her chest and lets out a cough. “W-what is that… feeling?”

I feel it as well. That, dry, itchy, empty feeling I felt once before creeps over.

“Penelope, I’d advise that you kindly sod off and let us take care of this,” Baz says, pulling out his wand.

Then, he turns to me with a sullen look on his face. “Don’t push, Snow. You need that magic for the Humdrum.”

How am I not supposed to push if I know that Baz _will_ need help? He doesn’t want Penny

“Baz, no—”

A piercing, mighty roar fills the air.

“Fuck,” I say, a trembling hand reaching for my pocket so I can mutter the incantation.

Baz tears it from my side.

“No. First off, they aren’t dark creatures. Secondly, no magi—”

“Baz, Simon!” Penny shrieks, holding her ring up at it.

A small, red dot in the sky becomes bigger as we stand there. It turns into a kidney-shaped blur, then a slightly distinctive dragon. By the time I can truly see it, it’s twenty metres above us, beating its red, spiked, rubbery wings against the Christmas chill. Its body is that of a T-rex’s, so I don’t think it will get any swiping passes but I can’t help but worry.

“W-what am I supposed to do?” I ask over the wind, noticing that Penny and Baz are beginning to get into some sort of formation. I was to push into Baz so bad, but…

I can’t.

The magic needs to be saved.

“Just stand there and look pretty, Snow!” Baz shouts back.

“ ** _U can’t touch this_**!” Penny yells at the dragon all of a sudden.

“Really?!” Baz groans, keeping his wand pointed at the dragon only just hovering in front of us now…

While the two argue, I notice the dragon unhinging its jaws to let out a fiery breath.

“Shit!”

I grab both of them around the waist and suddenly… we’re floating.

“Wait, what?” Penny gasps, turning towards me. “You’re turning into a dragon!”

The words surpass my hearing, but I know what she’s saying.

I didn’t even realize I sprouted bloody dragon wings.

Baz turns around as well, a wide grin on his face, then, a scowl. “Magic!”

“Turn around, you prat!” I yell over the wind, trying to ignore the whip of the tail against my legs.

I wonder what _that_ looks like.

When I refocus on the dragon, I notice just how intently it’s looking at the two. Its head is cocked to the side, wide, yellow cat eyes blinking curiously.

“ ** _Ladybird, ladybird fly away home_** _, **your house is on fire**_ , ** _and your children are gone_** ,” Baz says in a loud but calm voice. He must’ve cast a, **hear ye, hear ye**.

From what I’ve learned in that month and few weeks at Watford, the first line of the nursery rhyme is used for common types of pests. Whole nursery rhymes can conjure mass amounts of magic, and it seems that he’s trying to chant the whole thing.

“ ** _Ladybird_** , ** _ladybird fly away home_** , **_your house is on fire_** , ** _and your children shall burn_**. ** _All except one_** , ** _and her name is Nan_** , **_and she hid under the porridge pan_**.”

“Baz, is this working?” Penny asks loudly as I soar higher and above the dragon. My grip isn’t doing any justice, I can practically feel both of them slipping from my arms. As I lower myself, however, the dragon looks provoked and huffs a stream of flame in our direction.

I dodge it in a swoop.

“With me!” Baz screams at Penny.

“ ** _Ladybird, ladybird fly away home, your house is on fire_** , ** _and your children shall burn_** ,” they recite at the same time.

If only I could just…

“Stop it!” Baz lectures at me for pushing.

I sink to the ground, letting go of the both of them. Baz approaches one side of the dragon and Penny goes in the other direction, leaving me right in front of the fire-breathing beast.

“Yeah, thanks, mates!” I yell, stumbling backwards. I wrap my wings around me for some sort of defence.

Are dragon wings fire-resistant?

“Ada, Simon!” Penny yells back at me, directing her ring back at the beast.

“ ** _All except one_** , **_and that’s little John_** , **_and he lies under the grindle stone_**!” they say, lifting their voice to a sudden, deafening loudness.

This finally gets a reaction out of the dragon. It uses its wings to lift itself a few metres off the ground and lets out another ringing cry. It’s large, scarlet head turns to Baz and it bares its teeth.

“Baz!”

The crazed man is staring his death sentence in the eye with a smug smirk on his face.

“ ** _Ladybird, ladybird fly away home_** , ** _your house is on fire_** , ** _and your children shall burn_**.”

“Over here, dragon!” I scream, charging toward it. It’s head sweeps in my direction and I push off the ground just before it can bathe me in its molten breath. Now, I’m hovering above it.

“ ** _All except one_** , **_and her name is Aileen_** , **_and she hid under a soup tureen_**.”

Baz is panting, a cool sweat breaking across his forehead. Penny is weak at the knees, that sage-tasting, heavy magic wearing thin.

If I could just _push_.

“ ** _Ladybird, ladybird fly away home, your house is on fire_** , ** _and your children shall burn_**.”

Penny collapses on one side of me and Baz is about to lose composure. I can’t just… flap here and watch them buckle under pressure.

I leave Penny where she is, she’s safer that way. Instead, I flutter around Baz, place both hands on either of his shoulders and _push_.

Baz bounces back like a rubber ball, straightens his stance, and thunders, “ ** _Ladybird, ladybird fly away home_**!”

The wide-eyed dragon jerks back slightly, wings shuddering as it backs up and finally turns around, going the other direction. We’re left alone after a few minutes.

The both of us run to Penny as soon as we’re sure it’s gone. Her body is stiff on the ground and trembling. That usual aftertaste isn’t sticking in my mouth. It’s like her magic was blown out.

“Are you okay?” I ask, helping her sit up. Almost immediately, she curls up into me. My warmth is comforting to her, but that dead feeling is still hanging in the air so I don’t know how much longer that warmth will remain.

I wrap my wings around her to insulate my body heat.

“Snow!” Baz snaps, drawing my attention. My wings part just slightly so I can see him.

“What were you thinking!?” Eyes wide and filled with anger, he kicks a wing.

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” he says, irritation strong in his voice. “I wasn’t sure…”

“It’s currently a part of my body.” I shoot him a look and hug Penny a little closer.

For some reason, this prompts Baz. An accusatory forefinger is pointed in her direction as he says, “I told you to leave—!”

The itchy dryness intensifies.

“You’re not staying,” Baz says in a deep voice I almost don’t recognize. In a matter of seconds, his wand is pointed in her direction. “ ** _Run for your life_**!”

Penny just stands from my arms, blinking. “I don’t have to—”

“ _Go_!”

Penny decides not to argue and takes off.

Now, it’s just the two of us… and the Humdrum, wherever it is.

But in this moment, we have a little time to talk.

“As pissed as I am,” Baz huffs, grabbing a wing, “This _is_ pretty sick.”

“What do you think about the tail?”

“The wha—oh. What in the devil?”

My cartoon devil tail whips proudly in the calming air.

“Pretty cool, i’nt it?”

“Queer, Snow. Very queer.”

“I’m keeping them until I think we’re safe,” I tell him, sitting down. I practically melt the snow around me with my heat and Baz takes notice.

“I find it ironic that you’re called Snow, but melt through it quite easily.”

We both chuckle, then silence.

Baz scoots closer. A wing wraps around him, beckoning him to my side.

“Any time now.”

“Are you ready to… _go out_ , I guess?”

There’s a strong urge to nod, to pretend that I’m all right with letting go of something that’s been a hidden part of me since I was born, but instead, I confide. “No.”

“We can try and keep you calm then, if you want. We can meet the Humdrum and—”

“I have to, Baz.” I stand up. It’s almost among us, the Humdrum. I just want to get it over with. “Let’s go fill some holes.”

Like clockwork, I find the Humdrum standing across the way from us. It’s almost like some sort of arranged duel, pistols, swords, and wands set aside. It’s just me and nothing, Baz as my second. The Humdrum stands alone and no doctor is in sight.

It’s now or never.

To keep myself steady, I remind myself that Baz is my weakness. The Humdrum will use that to its advantage. Anything to blow me up, to give it more nothing.

“Well, well, well, Simon,” it speaks, staring at me with cold eyes. It nears me. I beat my wings to see if it reacts.

The Humdrum cocks a brow. “That’s peculiar.”

“Nice, aren’t they?” I near him this time. We stand only a few centimetres apart.

“Peculiar.” Its eyes divert from me and towards Baz. A wicked smile crosses its face. “Hello.”

Baz shoots it a malicious glare.

This all seems too easy.

“What are you, exactly?” I decide to ask, only wanting to confirm that this will work.

“I’m your thumbprint, your trace. I haven’t much time to consider, but… that’s what I could come up with.” It steps closer, putting little space between us.

“You like the loss of magic?”

“It’s accommodating.” It nods. “Makes it feel homey.”

“Well,” I breathe, becoming a little psyched by the fact that I’m looking myself in the eye. “Here’s your eviction notice.”

Both hands clasp on either shoulder of his and I imagine that tap in my mind. In one great turn, I feel the magic flow freely from me and into the Humdrum. It’s working.

“ _The Mage is dangerous_!” It wheezes, almost smiling as I drip every ounce of myself into him. “ _I trust you take care—of him!_ ”

Not once does it flinch or move. No, it accepts me, it allows me to fill it. As more and more magic transfers from me to it, it begins to flicker away. It’s difficult to keep a grasp on him, and I do as I push, as I’m vacuumed, sucked dry. It becomes too much and I collapse, still grasping on to whatever little bit I can. The magic flows more freely, electric jolts rushing through me. My wings are splayed in defiance of losing magic, but I keep giving and giving and giving.

A loud rattle erupts through the air like thunder, but I’m too tired to take it into account much further. I just want to sleep. My eyes are droopy and I feel empty as I’m being wrung out.

With the last few drops of myself, the loud noise winds down like a music box and goes out with a pop.

It’s all gone.

 

**Baz**

All was bright, hot, explosive, blaring and then, it was nothing. Now, it’s nothing at all. Everything is over regarding the Humdrum. The magic the Mage craved so much is gone, no more.

I fall at Simon’s side, scooping him into my arms. He’s out completely and might be for a while. His inner workings were practically ripped from him. Willingly, of course, but it still came as a shock.

The Humdrum is gone, but the Mage remains.

“Baby steps,” I say to him and myself, brushing the hair out of his eyes. It’s all droopy and wet from the snow. He’s no longer a personal furnace… he’s just Simon, the dragon boy.

I thought the wings and tail would have gone away with the magic, but I guess not.

That’s okay, it makes him special.

After a while, his eyes flutter open and he looks me in the eye. Tears instantly burst from him.

All I can do is comfort him at this point.

“It’s going to be okay.” With my free hand, I cup his face and run the pad of my thumb along his cheekbone. “It’s all right, love.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Baz**

There was something about the way Simon carried himself back to the house that was a bit lacklustre. Everything seemed dull with him, almost dead. The way he dragged his feet through the snow showed lack of interest. The grip on my hand… it was there, but very loose.

Now, as we approach the door at just about eight in the morning, Simon seems even more translucent than he was just about half an hour ago. If I let go, I wouldn’t be surprised if he just vanished like the Humdrum did.

“Oh my Merlin, Simon!” Agatha gasps when she opens the door. Just as she goes to wrap her arms around him for a tight embrace, I step in front of him.

“Leave him be for a while, will you? He just lost his magic. He’s in shock and very crestfallen. I’m sure you wouldn’t like it if—”

“Aleister Crowley, Baz!” Penelope huffs from behind Agatha, pushing herself in front. “Just shut up and join us. We’re going to open presents.”

Agatha gives up and walks out of the foyer. Bunce pulls Simon in by the wrist, and I follow in tow, closing the door behind me.

The study is filled with two additional people sitting there, Agatha’s Parents. They’re both staring at Simon quite curiously, taking in his wings and all. A quiet gasp coming from where the girls have gathered presents that Agatha’s finally taken notice.

Simon doesn’t acknowledge anyone; he simply sits down on the couch, keeping his wings tucked in to avoid bumping into anything.

(He does, I just catch it\ before he or anyone else notices.)

Suddenly, Agatha bounds over and takes a seat, saying, “I’ll take it from here.” A pointed look is shot in my direction and I realize that I’m holding Simon’s hand. Instantly releasing it, I shove myself on the other side of the couch and cross my arms over my chest, waiting to hear Agatha’s narrative.

“He’s shocked, Mum, Dad… I don’t blame him. Baz was the only one there to comfort him… If I was in his shoes, I would look for any sort of comfort myself…”

As Agatha speaks, Simon turns towards me just slightly, and for once in a few hours, he’s animated enough to send me a look that conveys the thought, “ _Really_?”

Keeping my eyes on the Wellbeloves, I shrug.

“...anyway, he’s here now and, oh dear… Simon, you must be freezing!” Agatha shoves herself up from the couch and dodges into the hall.

“Let’s just forget about the person who practically has a body temperature of, what, twenty-seven degrees?” I mutter under my breath.

Penelope, who is now at my side, stomps down on my foot.

Wincing, I stay still as Dr. Wellbelove nears Simon with a curious look in his eyes.

“Wings,” he says, eyeballing the large, spiked dragon wings that popped out when he was trying to rescue me and Bunce. “Oh, and a tail!”

The cartoon devil tail wraps around Simon’s body out of self-consciousness.

“Peculiar indeed!”

Just as he’s about to bring a hand down on the wing to inspect it, Agatha yells, “Dad, really?!”

Both of the older Wellbeloves shoot her a look of disdain.

“Oh, _really_?” her mother says.

A sorry look fills her big, umber eyes. “I-it’s just, Simon surely doesn’t want to poked and prodded at, especially now!”

Dr. Wellbelove, in turn, looks apologetic. “You’re right. But, son,” a firm hand clasps down on Simon’s shoulder and he flinches quite ferociously before turning to the doctor.

“S-s-sir…” Simon finally speaks, but his voice is delicate and mangled at the same time.

“I would like to inspect those wings.” After sparing a genial smile, he walks out of the study.

Mrs. Wellbelove does soon after.

In their departure, Penelope closes the door and magicks it, making sure no one can get in.Agatha takes her time to wrap blankets around us. Simon, for the first time ever since I’ve met him, he begins to shiver. I just now realize how blue his lips are, and that his skin is almost paler than mine. I scoot closer but heed my own advice.

Simon, though, rushes right into my arms and wraps his wings around us. We’re both shivering, our breaths just barely making the enclosed space between us warmer.

“What’re you doing, Simon?” I ask him softly, cupping his frigid cheek. “All right there?”

Simon shakes his head.

“That’s okay, there’s no need to be… just don’t shut yourself out from me, okay?” A quick pat on his cheek makes a little bit of difference in his stone-faced demeanour. For just a second, a smile flashes across his face. Then, nothing. Those large, rubbery wings retract and we’re met with a fascinated-looking Agatha.

“Siegfried and Roy, I’ve never seen anything so peculiar in my life… and I’ve seen a lot of things in Dad’s office.” She wants to reach out, but she pulls her hand away and turns to the tree.She received several more presents than the three of us, for Penelope and I received three and Simon four. When he notices the presents, he looks even more dejected.  
“What?” I whisper.

Shaking his head, he turns from me.

“ _Simon_.”

“T-the… I… no time, m-money, p-p-presents… I…” Simon takes a deep breath, trying to maintain composure, but fails. With his head in his hands, his shoulders shake.

“Hey, _hey_ , Simon,” Penelope snaps, kneeling in front of him. Both hands are pulled from his face when she takes a grasp of his wrists. “Listen, we’re not angry, any of us. A lot has been put on your shoulders. You don’t have to remember.”

“D-didn’t… kn-kn-know, I…” A curtain of wings surrounds him. I don’t know what it will take to pull him out of it.

So, I stand up and say, “I think it’s best we let him calm down and discuss something more urgent… Where is he going to go?”

“We need to talk to the Mage,” Agatha says under her breath.

“We are _not_ doing that,” I sneer, glaring at her. “We _cannot_ talk to the Mage. Everything we built up—”

“—has been knocked down,” Penelope cuts me off. “We need to regroup and figure out our priorities…”

“Not now,” Agatha groans, ushering out the presents.

“But Simon is upset over that, Aggie! Put them—”

“ _Stop_!” Simon yells almost magickally, but void of it.

Everyone falls silent, all eyes on him. Those blue eyes of Simon’s are glaring around, taking in everything he sees. The dragon wings flare up, knocking several things down, but he doesn’t seem to care. I’d do anything to know what’s going on in his head.

“Simon… what happened after I left?” Penelope asks in a low voice.

“Humdrum gone,” he says surely, but the words are still failing him miserably. “Warning… about Mage.”

“It said that it trusts us that we take care of the Mage,” I elaborate, sitting up just a bit. “I’m just trying to find other ways to get Snow through the gates of Watford.

“ **Simon Says**?” Penelope holds her ring up. “ ** _See what I me_** —”

“I can get a chalkboard, for Merlin’s sake!”

“But the door is magicked,” I point out.

“N-no… n-n-no magic,” Simon says weakly. “Please.”

No one dares deny him his wishes right now.

“Okay… then let’s talk. Are we finding out about both mums right now?” Penelope takes a seat in the arm chair near the fire. “What do we know about them, currently?  Let’s talk about Lucy first.”

“Well, she was with the Mage and died during or after Simon’s birth. We don’t know the Mage’s role in her death or if he blames it on Simon or not… that’s a possible reason he didn’t take Simon until later,” I think out loud, then shake my head. “No… I’m positive he was waiting for Simon’s power to accumulate… Simon, how strong would you think your magic was when you—”

The wings are wrapped around him again.

“Okay, then, let’s talk about Natasha. She killed herself,” Bunce says grimly.

I frown at the thought. It’s been awhile since I’ve read how she killed herself, so I’m okay with discussing it more openly.

“Yes, she did.”

“Because…”

“A vampire bit her…” The thought makes me want to heave. I’ve known this, of course, but I still can’t can’t wrap my head around her hatred for vampires. She’d really hate them so much as to kill herself. “She would have Turned. She didn’t want to be a monster.”

“But you’re not and if she stood firm, she wouldn’t have had to act like the others. She would’ve been able to—”

“The _Coven_ ,” I remind them. “They wouldn’t want a vampire in control of a school.”

“Well,” Penelope sighs, “I’m convinced that things will change if I can help it.”

A reassuring hand is placed on my knee.

“Now, what else do we know?” She stands from the armchair and snatches up a mug of hot chocolate from the coffee table. “Any motives behind the vampire attack?”

“To get rid of my mum, I’m sure of it,” I say. “I’ve read a few books about vampires in my time—”

“You’re eighteen.”

“—and I found that vampires don’t raid for no particular reason. As far as I know, there was no reason to, either.”

“Didn’t Ms. Possibelf say that the Humdrum caused it?” Agatha says apprehensively.

“The Humdrum didn’t take form until after Simon blew up his school,” I mutter, shaking my head. “There have been other dead spots, sure, but those were from Dark magicians and they were instantly stripped and imprisoned. It has to be—”

“T-the M-m-mage?”

“Simon, now that we know he’s your father, I understand that you might want to protect him and all, but—”

“Baz…”

“—he’s evil. Would you really want to—”

“Baz!” Simon yelps, staring at me with wide eyes. “I-I a-agree…”

 _That_ stuns me. “You _what_?”

“You’ve heavily influenced him, Baz. Of course he agrees with you,” Penelope says restlessly.“Simon, are you ready to open presents?”

A dismal look crosses Simon’s face. “I… okay.”

 

One single gift remains under the tree and that’s mine… to Simon. It’s stupid, really. I got it the day we kissed, after we kissed. I knew there was something between us and that there will be for years to come (I desperately hope, I’m so stupidly in love), so I ran out to a jeweller and bought something probably a little too soon, then enchanted it.

The smallest package under the tree contains a promise ring, holding the weight of my life in it. Once it’s on Simon’s finger, I am tied to him for life. When I promised Lucy I’d keep him safe, I meant it. The very ring will let me know what he’s feeling, if he’s hurting, and if he needs assistance when he’s out of my sight. Now that he’s utterly powerless, he will need this for sure. I’m assuming I’ll either have to cast a **Simon Says** on him to get him into Watford or the Mage will find him himself… I hope it not be the latter.

Penelope and Agatha went out to grab some food for us to eat between now and Christmas supper. Mrs. Wellbelove tried to stop her and Simon tried to go to wander off and buy presents, but I insisted he stayed, motioning to the tree.

So, he did and now we sit in front of it and its glimmering branches.

With a ginger touch, he scoops the box and opens it with bated breath.

The velvet of the black box glints slightly under the lights.

“Baz…”

“Keep opening it,” I insist, but my insides begin to knot knowing I’m going to have to explain this to him… I’m going to have to tell him the emotion I put in this…

Oh, Crowley.

Opening with a click, Simon’s jaw goes slack.

In front of him is a platinum ring with a moonstone, his birthstone, centred in direct view. I can practically see the way it’s catching the light from where I am, but maybe it’s just the aura that’s radiating from it, the magic I’ve placed on it.

“Simon, when your mother Visited, I promised that I would watch after you, make sure you wouldn’t get hurt or killed. She wants you to bring light to the truth and though… I was in love with you then… my thoughts focused more on showing and proving the bad that no one else seems to see. But now, now I want to protect you because you’re my boyfriend and if you got hurt… well, try it on.”

Thankfully, I don’t have to coerce him. He takes the ring out of its box and slides it onto his middle finger. It’s a perfect fit. For a moment, a bright light blasts from his hand, but wavers out into nothingness.

It works.

“We’re connected now, Simon. If anything hurts you, makes you happy, vexes you, troubles you… I’ll know. It was tricky to spell, but I think it’ll be worth it.” I flash a slightly fangy smile.

An indifferent look crosses Simon. For a moment, he appears pleased, then disgruntled.

“But it’s not just for that. I know we’ve only been together for what, a day? However, it’s my promise that I’ll be there for you.”

This is soon for me, I know, very soon, but I know that Simon enjoys throwing caution to the wind instead of lying in wait, so I might as well try it. So far, it only makes me panicky.

Simon goes to try and say something, but before he can, the front door slams open and even with the study being closed, it makes both of us jump.

“What?” Simon whispers, then…

“Where’s my boy, Simon? Where is he?”

The Mage, and he sounds frantic.

 _Shit_. I scramble to my feet and glance around, making sure there’s no trace of myself. I collect a couple of things and rush to the closet, quietly clicking it closed behind me just as the study doors open.

“S-sir,” I hear Simon gulp…

I have to watch.

As far as I know, there are no spells that can make doors see-through, so I crack the door just slightly.

Simon look terrified of the man in front of him, his father. I can only imagine the Mage’s face.

“Where is your magic, boy?!” the Mage gasps, grabbing Simon by the arm. I feel a pain shoot up my arm, centred at the wrist.

It’s hard to keep calm when I know my Simon Snow is in pain.

“I-i-in the H-humd-drum! I-it’s gone!”

“ _What_?!” the Mage booms, causing the sickly feeling of terror to swirl within me.

If I could only tear his throat out…

No, not yet. We don’t have any proof that he did all the things we’re assuming yet…

“It’s gone! It’s all gone!”

“Surely not!” I close the crack between the door and the jamb as he begins to madly look around. “Surely not, Simon!”

“B-but, Sir!”

“You are coming with me—and what are these? Wings!” The Mage tuts ferociously. “And a tail! Merlin and Morgana, Simon! Come along!”

Heavy footsteps fill the room, heading towards the study doors. Again, I crack the door and find the Mage walking along, Simon being pulled behind. His bloodshot eyes fall on mine and he mouths, “Help me.”

Not now, I can’t. I’m beyond angry and may even be a little mad with rage. That just means I have to find things faster, find out about his mother faster, my mum. But how?

In that moment, I don’t know when I’ll see Simon Snow again.


	32. Chapter 32

**Baz**

Watford seems so far away, yet it will only be a matter of hours until I stand in front of its gates with my uniform on and my wand in my pocket. Magic feels detached, unreal, confusing. Almost as if I was Simon Snow himself, it feels like I haven’t got a grip on things.

It’s been this way since Simon was abruptly torn from the comfortable Christmas setting two weeks ago. I don’t know where he is now, but I know that ring hasn’t caused me any pain, no… but it has caused this emptiness branch throughout me.

With that ring, I swore I was going I feel everything Simon did and, well, I can feel a bout of depression creeping up on him like prey. I recognize it as what it is so I don’t handle it the wrong way, but if I denied that I’ve been having my own set of depressive thoughts, I’d be lying.

The very thought of Simon being treated like an animal by the Mage is enough to break my heart and I know that if he hasn’t been hurting Simon, he’s had him locked up. Not knowing where he’s been either has been driving me mad but now that we’re going back to Watford today, I reckon we’ll just be able to find out where my boy’s gotten to.

After telling Penelope and Agatha what happened, they suggested we hunt him down. As beautiful as the idea was, I knew we couldn’t. We had to lay low, right under the Mage’s pube hair moustache. If he knew we were trying to seek Simon out, there would’ve bound to be a repercussion.

Simon is in the clutches of the Mage so I know we couldn’t do anything hasty.

Instead of trying to get Simon back, we all decided to seek out the past.

My past, at least.

Term doesn’t start until tomorrow, but we’re leaving at twelve on the dot, so we need this information and we need it fast.

Both of the girls are over, Agatha really doing nothing more but sulking since we have to return. She’d rather be with the Normals.

I don’t get it.

The three of us are perched at the table, taking tea. Fiona is with us as well, squinting at the magickal newspaper we receive. I never bother keeping up with names, though I should. It’s in my best interest, most likely.

Whichever it is, the Mage and Simon happens to be plastered on the front.

“The git’s got no magic!” Fiona gasps, staring at me with a wide and bleary expression on her face. “I heard he was gonna build an army with the magic he had.” She snapped the newspaper back open. “Blimey!”

“The Humdrum took it, did you know?” I ask her, not too sure of what the article covered exactly. “Snow pushed the magic into the Humdrum. It doesn’t exist anymore.”

Fiona peers over the paper, an eye on me, suspicious, even. “Oh?”

“Yes.” I nod curtly. “He saved the World of Mages by giving up his magic. He’s a hero, really. Knew the Mage would try to use him.”

Sipping on my tea, I wait.

Nothing but a smirk shoots my way. “Did you…compel him?”

“In… a way?” Not intentionally, nor magickally.

“In _what_ way are we talking here?” she presses on. Fiona’s always liked digging right into the Mage’s side and since Simon is… or was his secret weapon, I know she’s enjoying every last bit of this.

“He doesn’t exactly like the Mage either…” I take another sip of my tea. “Not after he abandoned him for eighteen years.”

Fiona cocks a brow, so I elaborate.

“Snow’s dad is the Mage and not until he _went off_ that second time did he find him. He’s pretty pissed about that. I don’t know if he’s told the Mage that he knows yet…”

Fiona seems more interested now, and not in a snide, mischievous way. The newspaper is set aside, and she is propped on the table, chin in her hands. “When did you find this out? Why? Davy is Simon Snow’s father?”

“We found this out a couple of days before Christmas,” Bunce answers for me, setting her empty teacup aside. “Baz… well, he got a Visiting from Simon’s mother, Lucy Salisbury and she wants to be avenged. She said she wants both Simon and Baz’s truth to be exposed… So, we think we need to find out about what happened to Natasha as well.”

Both Fiona and I freeze at her name and shake it off immediately after.

“So, _you_ ,” Fiona points at me, “got a Visiting from Lucy Salisbury?”

“And Mum.” I'm not going to forget about that.

“To seek the truth?”

“Yeah.” I nod.

“For the both you and Simon Snow?”

“Yep.” After taking a final sip, I set my tea aside.

A curious look overtakes Fiona. Her fingers tap together, brows knitted. “Any suspects?”

“Since the Humdrum only just came to live with Simon’s first burst, we’re all pretty sure—“

“The Mage,” I say. “There’s just no proof and if we act recklessly, _we_ get in trouble.”

Slowly, a massive grin spreads across Fiona’s face. She gulps down her last bit of tea, opens the newspaper again, and says, “This is war.”

 

Watford looks it’s standard best the minute we walk through its gates. The Wendigo is gone. Those burnt patches in the grass have disappeared with what I presume to be **April showers**. There’s little to no sign that Simon’s been anywhere near. But then again, with his magic gone, why would I know?

One thing, however, is filling me and it’s a mix of expecting impending doom and excitement. Not my emotions, but Simon’s. I expect that he knows that we’re coming home today, but the sorrowful pit in my stomach makes me wonder why. Why does he feel so crestfallen?

There are three places he could be and the first place I would hope is the turret. Finding him safe in the bed next to mine would be superb, but I expect him to be either in the Mage’s office or that little add-on to the Mummers House.

So, the first place the three of us check is the add-on.

Both Agatha and I stay back while Penelope stands on her tiptoes to get a glance in. There’s no promise that the Mage isn’t in there, but when she gives us a thumbs up, I’m the first one to open that door.

Simon’s sitting there, chained up in golden, glimmering magickal restraints.

I can feel myself go mad.

Almost instantly, I unlatch him from the holds and pull him into my arms. The blood that’s in me is rushing to my face. What the Mage has done is highly offensive and surely illegal. Simon was _shackled_ for Crowley’s sake, but he’s in my arms, safe for now.

With the slight frenzy passing, I’m able to see through my rage again. Simon’s in my arms, wings folded up, blubbering into my chest like a baby.

I don’t blame him.

“Shh, love. I’m here. I would’ve chased after you but I don’t know what he would’ve done. I’ve felt everything you have. He hasn’t hurt you, right?” I tilt his chin upward so his eyes are gazing into my own. “He hasn’t touched you?”

Simon shakes his head, saying, “N-no…”

“The ring works fine, then.” His hair is longer than I’ve last seen it, the sides that are usually shorter than his curly top growing out. (My hair’s getting longer as well.) (As a matter of fact, it’s currently in a ponytail.)

Not only is his hair a bit grown, but everything else about him looks dishevelled. Giant bags are under his eyes. His skin is pale. He’s thinning out. Those wings of his are wilting. This isn’t my Simon Snow and I’m going to nurse him back to health if I have to.

“Bunce,” I state, wrapping my arms back around Simon’s body.

“Food?” she asks as if she’s read my mind.

Shooting her a glance, I nod. “Loads of scones. And Agatha?”

Wellbelove looks at me with wide eyes.

“See if you can find any razor that I can use on his hair?”

“Uh… girl razors suck. Maybe Pen and I should trade places? She can get into the Mummers House, after all.” She wrings her hand around the ends of her hair.

“Yes, that’s fine.”

The both of them set off, leaving Simon and me alone. I magick the door closed and turn to my boy.

“What in Merlin’s beard did he do to you?”

Simon’s eyes don’t stay on mine. They shift around uncomfortably as we sit there. However, he assures that he’s missed me by squeezing onto my torso.

“Just… start with today, and use your words.” In all honesty, I miss hearing his voice.

“T-the Mage bound me and l-left to see if I could get out…” Shaking his head, tears begin to accumulate. “H-he’s convinced that I-I still have magic.”

“Barking mad,” I say, running my fingers through his bronze curls. “How long ago did he leave?”

“Ten minutes.” Simon pulls away to lay out on his bed. I simply sit at his side, running a finger along the inner part of his bicep.

A feeling of Simon’s flickers in the pit of my stomach. Content.

“We’ll get you fed up and cleaned, okay? And save the whole story for when the girls return.”

After a couple of minutes, Agatha returns with the food and another few pass before Penelope walks in with a razor. The Mage ought to know that he has friends taking care of him and since the door was unlocked, there isn’t any reason for people to walk in.

Then again, he could be baiting people…

Now that I think about it, is _he_ safe with us in this room?

“Simon, before he left… did he… I don’t know, do anything to the handles, attempt to lock the door, anything?”

Simon simply shakes his head, then cocks it, curious. His free hand finds its way to my hair and gently caresses the ponytail. “It’s cute.”

That sounded a bit more normal… that’s progress.

“Yeah, yeah,” Penelope sighs, shoving a plate of scones and a small bowl of butter into Simon’s hands. “Eat. You look peaky.” She sends him a maternal look and hands me over the razor. “And take care of that hair situation.”

Both Simon and I frown at her, but I take the razor and he takes the food.

As he stuffs his face, I begin to shave his sides down.

“So, Simon,” Penelope says, sitting at the end of his bed. It’s just a bit bigger than the beds that we have upstairs, but are too small for three people to sit on. Despite it, she takes a seat and quickly pulls out her phone.

“Penny,” Agatha snaps.

Shooting her phone back into her pocket, she smiles sheepishly. “Checking on Micah.”

“Naturally,” Agatha whispers.

“What has the Mage made you do these past few weeks?”

A swirl of anxiety stirs in my stomach as a pained look reflects on Simon.

“I…,” he says, gulping, “w-went through a lot o-of experiments. C-checking my magic.” A shudder rolls through him. “I d-don’t fancy his m-magic much.”

“Did he **Simon Says** you?” Agatha gasps.

Without a word, he nods.

“And how did that work out?” Penelope asks, patting his knee. “I know it wouldn’t do much, but it did a little bit of something, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Simon looks down in resignation and silently eats another bite of his third scone.

“Maybe,” I sigh after a short bout of silence, “we should talk about something other than magic.” I turn to Simon, who is coddled into my side. Half of his head is shaven, so I walk around and sit on the other side, getting to work on the opposite side. It’s a little hard to reach around those dragon wings. “What d’you say, Snow?”

“Simon,” he says, staring at me with blue eyes. They look just a little bit more alive than they had only moments ago.

“Simon, what do you say?” I flash a sheepish smile, causing a slight blush to engross his cheeks.

“What’bout?”

“Before we move on—I’m sorry, Simon—I was wondering if we were going to see any of you in classes?” Penelope is wringing the knob on the top of his bedpost, a hopeful look twinkling in her eyes.

“Yeah.” Simon nods. “Alternate work in most classes, though.”

His head hangs low and I nearly nick him.

“ _Anyway_ ,” I say, glowering at Bunce, “Fiona is an ally now.”

“She bloody hates me, what do you mean?” Simon asks, just about to turn his head. I keep him from doing so by quickly paralyzing him so I won’t nick him. (We all know that would be a catastrophe.)

“She likes you now that you hate the Mage,” I croon, unfreezing him with a quiet incantation. “Now stop moving you absolute tosser, I don’t want to cut you.”

“I… dislike the Mage. Hate is a strong word,” Simon says quietly.

“He abandoned you as a child, Simon.”

“Okay, you’re right.”

“I don’t think we even have a game plan, do we?” Penelope says out loud, standing up and pacing across the shack-like abode. “Do you know—is the chamber of secrets still there?”

“I… haven’t gone back into the school yet. But I don’t think anyone has discovered it. Why—”

“Well, I’m glad you’re curious!” chips Penelope, hopping just slightly before stopping directly in front of us. “Because I’ve created my own spell!”

(She’s been itching to spring this on Simon since she got it to work.)

“Oh?” Simon sounds a bit apprehensive as he scarfs down his last scone. He grabs the butter bowl that still has just a bit, but I snatch it from him before he can begin to lap the butter up.

“It kind of sucks, but it works,” Agatha sighs in the background, keeping her eye out for the mage.

“What is it—”

“ ** _Alahomora_**!” Penelope shrieks, pointing her ring at the door. With a shimmer of violet waves, the door locks.

“But that _unlocks_ doors, Pen,” Simon says, looking less than enthused.

I snigger, setting the razor aside.

(His hair looks much better than it did.)

“That’s the thing. Only _I_ can unlock that door now and the door to the chamber of secrets as soon as I cast it there too. I made a blood oath not to unlock it for anyone but the four of us… I might need to amend it for Fiona, though.”

Simon looks exasperated. “That’s Dark magick, Penny! You could get in so much—”

“The Mage!” Agatha suddenly gasps

Penelope mutters a counter-spell quietly, the door falling from her hex instantly.

“There’s a window right there,” Simon says, nodding to the left. You lot, go, except Baz.”

Both girls rush out the window, grabbing the razor and platters.

“We have a few seconds, what?” I ask, running a hand through his hair, almost as if I’m making sure this is _really_ him. I smile when he nestles the top of his head into my top.

“Please bind me back up… I don’t want the Mage to think—”

“No. First off, I am not going to shackle you. I could never lock you up. And secondly, you need to act the part, Simon. If he thinks you’re improving—”

“Baz…”

“ _No_.” The Mage can’t be too far now. There’s no trace of him when I glance over my shoulder and through the chink in the curtain, but that doesn’t mean he’s close.

Not sure when I’ll be able to see him again, I bend down and press a kiss to his lips, much shorter than I’d like it to be but it’s only a sign of affection. He gets the memo.

“Wait,” Simon says, grabbing my wrist just before I can leave.

“ _What_?’ Prying my hand from his wrist, I begin to migrate to the window. Any time now.

Simon follows me, certainly to close the window behind me.

“I’ll see you later tonight. The Mage usually disappears after eight. Just tap on the window and we can go upstairs.”

“What if you get caught?”

Why am I complaining?

“I don’t care anymore—now go!” he gasps as someone knocks on the door.

“Er… just a second, sir,” Simon says, pressing one last kiss to my lips as I step out of the shack. “I love you, goodbye!” he whispers before slamming the window shut in my face.

Regretfully, I run away without looking back. I know that I would get in trouble more than he, but the thought of any retaliation against Simon only hurts.

Just as I reach the turret, however. I feel a gush of relief flow through me like a dam just broke. From what I can tell, this means the Mage didn’t take any notice of me.

This means Simon is safe… for now.


	33. Chapter 33

**Baz**

Eight in the evening comes and goes, and by eight-thirty, I’m down by the add-on. Over ten minutes ago, the Mage left but I stand incredulous, making sure there’s no sign of him coming back. I gently tap on the window after a few more minutes and the window opens immediately.

Standing up, I’m face to face with Simon (I _do_ have to look down, but all in the same).

A bright rush of pink patches on Simon’s cheeks as I hand over the bouquet I whipped up.

“Thank you…”

I smile at him.

The git goes redder.

“Is the door locked?” I ask, leaning in the window. “Because I could help you out if you need any assistance.”

Handing back the bouquet, Simon begins to climb out but is stopped by the massive wings protruding from his back.

“ _Let me help you_ , _for Crowley’s sake!_ ” I sneer, standing on my tiptoes. With slight effort and a nod of reassurance that I’m not hurting Simon, I’m able to pull him out of the window. In one swift motion, I press the flowers in one of Simon’s hands and link my arm with his once the window’s shut.

The both of us begin to head towards the courtyard in silence, and while I tug him along, I can feel his eyes on me. A twist of confusion flitters in me, which lets me know he hasn’t any idea of where we’re going.

“Confused?” I say, squeezing his hand.

One of Simon’s squeamish feelings tickles my insides.

“Little bit,” he replies, following me blindly anyway. He trusts me; I’m glad of it.

“I’ll give you three guesses as to where we’re going,” I tell him, turning towards the school, hoping he’s getting the idea.

“Blimey, Baz. I’m tired and don’t wanna guess but we’re heading to the school. So, I’m guessing…”

The minute I believe I hear Simon think, _the chamber of secrets_ , I freeze.

“What?” Simon asks right away.

“I think… I can hear your thoughts.” Turning to him, slightly enthralled and completely mortified, I continue, “I think that ring is stronger than I…this is strange.”

“Looks like I need to work on occlumency,” Simon chortles.

I nudge him and continue trudging on, but I’m not going to put away the thought. Now, I wonder if it will continue to strengthen...I never intended on reading his mind.

“Simon,” I say, opening the door for him. Once it’s closed behind him, I cast the contradicting spell of **alohomora**. (I still don’t understand; sure, only I can unlock it now, but why call it **alohomora** when it’s supposed to be an _unlocking_ spell all in all?) (As smart as Penelope is, I can’t help but question her merit sometimes.)

“Only you can unlock the school now?” Simon croaks, a twinge of anxiety dancing inside us.

“Yep.” The thought of having that power makes me smirk, but it won’t be this way forever. Just for the time, I have Simon.

“So, we _are_ going to the chamber of secrets?” Simon continues to question as we stride down the hall. Part of me wants to hit him upside the head for being so thick, but his mind is on several other things so I leave him alone for now.

“What d’you think?” I almost sneer, but manage to steer my voice into a steely, cold tone.

A slightly intimidated flit ignited in me before it settles again.

“Sorry,” I mumble before continuing.

By the time we reach the door, it’s already open. Glimmering a purple heat-like wave flitters between the door and the jamb, but it’s open. Penelope’s unlocked it and might still be in there to aid me in adding myself to the list of people that can unlock the door. She’s already added Fiona to the list of those able to enter and in doing that, she’d discovered it was possible I can unlock doors as well.

Sure enough, that dark-haired magician is flitting around, lighting candles with her ring. All of the desks have been shoved aside, a single, round table in the middle of the class with two white, wrought iron chairs on either side. Two steaming helpings are propped on either side and two glasses of wine sit by their sides. An additional beverage cup of wine is uncharacteristically next to my wine glass, but I ignore that. Everything else looks rather nice.

Glowing fairies spin around the table in place of stationary fairy lights, which provide light but the main attraction is the number of candles encompassing the room. They light up the room in a beautiful, iridescent glow.

Very lowly, Ed Sheeran plays in the background. We can dance later when Simon wants to.

“Oh, I overstayed! Sorry, had to add a few more lights,” Penelope chuckles, letting her ring-clad hand fall to the side. “I’ll be out now… I managed to magick another spell that will allow one more person to the **alohomora** charm. Do it before you leave. Night, enjoy yourselves!”

Bunce bounces out almost immediately, closing the door behind her.

“When I said I wanted to spend more time with you, I didn’t expect… _this_.” Simon catches a glance of the room by doing a three-sixty. He takes in everything. The sights, the sounds, the smell, all cause a warm mess to rise through him.

For once in a long while, I’m not _cold_.

“Do you like it?” I ask, pulling a chair out for him. He dreamily wanders to the chair and sits down. Pushing him in, I walk on my side and sit down as well, working on the blood now so I don’t have to later… in case something happens. If it does, all right. If it doesn’t, all right. I just want him to have a good night.

“It’s… amazing, honestly,” Simon says, not getting enough of everything in front of him. The lights twinkle in his eyes, illuminating that blue blue into a glimmering greenish hue. “But why?” The yellowish glint extinguishes when he looks back at me, but there’s a flit of a feeling I can’t quite explain, but I believe it’s love.

The feeling makes me take his hand and he blushes.

That feeling only grows.

“Under our circumstances, I can’t take you on a proper date so I thought that this would be better than the turret.”

 _Maybe later_ , I hear Simon think.

His reaction causes me to down the cup of blood. Sitting it to the side, my fangs retract and I glance down at the food in front of me.

Penelope put quite a lot for me, but around Simon, if I am serious about pursuing him, eating in front of him shouldn’t be such an issue, but I can’t help but hold a hand up to my mouth as I chew.

Simon, however, doesn’t touch his food. No sense of hunger swirls within me either.

“Have you already eaten?” I say, taking another bite.

Very slowly, he shakes his head. “I love you,” he whispers, “and I want to protect you.”

“I am supposed to be protecting you, Snow—”

“Simon.”

“—Simon, and—”

“How long does a **Simon Says** last?” He asks me all of a sudden.

Where is he going with this?

“Only long enough for the target to spell something...why? What do you want to spell?”

There are a couple of ideas that I know are running through his head, but they’re too complex for **Simon Says** to help him with.

“The...the ring. I want to get something for you and spell it, I want… I want to protect you from the Mage because I think… I think…” Simon takes a deep breath and exhales with the same might. “The Mage, he doesn’t like you. That’s clear. B-but, I think his hatred is deeper than it should be…” Simon’s eyes are welling up with tears and a jerk move of despair in him reflects through me. “I just want to make sure that he doesn’t hurt you, Baz. I want to make sure that he won’t”—the wings flare out, scaring him momentarily—“kill you!”

Death itself doesn’t scare me but leaving Simon alone in the hands of the Mage does. If he wants a ring or a locket or a watch that binds me to him, I want him to be able to have the power, but that’s the issue. He doesn’t _have_ power.

“Simon, you don’t have to be afraid. I can face the Mage perfectly well. I mean,” I point to my fangs, an exasperated look on his face appears.

“B-but…Baz, how would that make you feel? By all means, do it, but won’t that make you—”

“No,” I sneer, sitting forward. “If he lays a hand on you I would happily tear his throat out.”

Both euphoria and terror flow leak through Simon. “Crowley…”

“As for the piece of jewellery you want to enchant,” I say, leaning back, “I don’t know how you’ll do it, but maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to get a larger charge if more than one person to magick you with the spell. I’ll need to compare notes with Penelope, but…” I shrug, not sure of what else I can tell him. I’ve already said all that he wants to hear.

“Just… I know you’re bad with emotions but tell me if he _ever_ says something that scares you. Okay, Baz? I… think he’s using magic that he’s forbidden himself… the other day he killed a fly with… I…” Simon laughs in spite of himself, but I know he’s petrified. “He said… **exterminate**.”

I stifle a breath, staring at Simon in complete surprise. “On a _fly_?”

Simon nods and seems to know the utter seriousness of using the spell. In shorter terms, it’s the _avada kedavra_ of the World of Mages. Anyone who’s hit dies instantly, no exceptions.

“He’s getting more careless, reckless…” Fiona was right, this will be war. “Asserting dominance. He wants you to know that this isn’t a joke. He will do anything to get magic from you, Simon, and… and… you’re going to have to do it.”

Three wars we’re fighting, the lot of us. The war against the Mage and vengeance from both of our mothers regarding him once we’ve proved his part.

“I don’t _have_ magic, Baz! You know I don’t, I—”

“ **Simon says**. We’ll have to charge you, but you must play along.” I grasp on his hands, feigning fear for once. “For the safety of us all.”

Simon looks stunned, astounded by the fact that all of _this_ , all of this shit and piss will be on him. The chaotic mess of his father is on him, in his hands. He can only have so much help and at the end of the day, he, the Chosen One, the Mage’s heir (quite literally), has his father’s fate in his hands. The mission is overwhelming, but maybe, just maybe, we can rally students, have a proper army… but where would we start? I don’t know how Dev and Niall would react, and how would those prats of Simon’s guy friends react to resisting?

This was supposed to be a night of fun, but now I can’t have any knowing what the Mage is conspiring.

Fiona needs to know at once.

_How could I do this?_

“We’ll find a way,” I promise, squeezing his hand. “We’ll beat the Mage. Do you mind if I tell Fiona what’s up? I would wait, but it’s urgent. _This_ is not good.”

“By all means.” The frown Simon’s wearing deepens.

 _I can’t do this_.

Pressing the phone to my ear, not caring if anyone could find us (and no one could, after all), I squeeze Simon’s hand. The weight that’s been put on Simon’s shoulders is probably more than he can bear, even with magic. I can’t imagine the feeling he’s having, knowing he only has his hands and his brain. Simon is smart, generally, but he can be utterly thick. Despite it, he can think fast when he needs to. According to Penelope, cutting off that Basilisk’s head appeared to be second nature. The problem lies in the fact that he can no longer conjure his sword if need be without help.

“This better be something important,” Fiona spits in my ear, sounding out of breath. That only means two things: she’s working or…a suitor is over.

I desperately hope she’s working.

“Very. I was just told that the Mage is becoming reckless…he used the killing curse in front of Simon. You know what I’m talking about,” I say, catching a glimpse of Simon mouthing _avada kedavra_.

Rolling my eyes, I sink back into the conversation with my aunt.

“For what?” Fiona whispers, heavy breathing filling my ear.

“Are… you all right? Please don’t tell me I didn’t interrupt… that.”

“No, no…but if you called earlier you would—”

“ _Enough_ ,” I snap, cringing at the thought. “Just… you’re all right?”

“Yes, yes. I am just fine. What did he use it on?”

“A fly. A bloody fly. I don’t know if he did it in front of Simon intentionally or if he is doing it out of…habit.”

Fiona’s deep sigh fills my ear. “I don’t know, but keep yourself safe.”

“I’m keeping Simon safe, Fiona. It’s my job. I come second for right now. I—”

“Listen to your aunt, Baz. I don’t want you to—”

“No.” Letting the Mage walk all over him isn’t something I’m going to let happen. My fingers find their way to the ring on his middle finger. Running my thumb along the moonstone, I say, “I promised I would protect you. This allows me to protect you. When you put it on, I was given an unbreakable link to you. Never, _ever_ , will I keep myself safe when I know you’re in danger.” My hand migrates and I lean forward, caressing his cheek. “You’re first.”

“Stop gushing in my ear. I’ll be there tomorrow. Good night, Baz…and please stay safe, will you?”

Fiona hangs up before I can answer.

For a moment, nothing but Ed Sheeran makes any noise. Simon’s silent. I’m contemplating. There’s nothing to say about the fact that danger is looming over the World of Mages and we all know the Mage will do anything to _silently_ gain power. That’s what tyrants do. They either instil intimidation or climb to the top and take over, promising good for all. That was what he did when he promised species of all kinds, lesser families, and magickal students with no magic at home that they would be protected under him if they offered their cooperation. The Mage won’t protect them. The unwavering support and magic are what he’s set for.

Simon, on the other hand, isn’t like him. When he was the most magical person in the World of Mages, he was afraid of him power. He liked it all right, but the _going off_ , the dysfunctional spells, the fact that he _just_ discovered his magic intimidated him. Simon isn’t like his father, which is for the best.

“Let’s get back to our date,” I mutter, shoving my plate aside. With the wave of my wand and a small incantation, the plate and beverage cup disappear. Simon’s remains, as well as our wine glasses.

“I’m so worried,” Simon whispers, taking a hesitant bite of his mash. “I can’t think of anything other than—”

“Are you still hungry?” I ask, polishing off my wine. Simon takes a sip of his, Let’s out a noise of delight, and drinks the rest in one gulp. Before he can pour himself another glass, I clamp my hand over the top of the wine glass and shoot him a look.

“I…just don’t want to think about it.”

“Not a smart way of doing that.” Making the wine bottle vanish with my wand, I stand up and approach him on the other side. He stares back with slight indignation.

“How am I supposed to forget—”

“Shh,” I say, sweeping him up into my arms. A sweep of hopelessness runs through me, but I ignore it. “Do you want to go up to the turret? We can, you can get comfortable. We can…I don’t know, what do you want to do?”

 _Sleep_.

“Be with you.”

Simon’s embrace is warm, but not hot like it used to be. But it’s comfortable and it’s enough. Wrapping my arms around him as well, I bury my nose in those bronze curls of his and inhale, taking him in with all of my senses.

“When does the Mage wake you up, Simon? Maybe I can sleep in the add-on with you. You’re tired, are you not?”

We’re swaying to the song. I haven’t realized until just now. Simon’s incredibly tired, his eyes are weighing heavy. He didn’t look tired just earlier, but the conversation is exhausting, he hadn’t had much to eat, and he downed a glass of wine. Of course he’s tired, yet when I try to pull him towards the exit, his feet stay stationary.

“No, not yet,” Simon says, pressing his freckled cheek to my neck. “We didn’t get to dance.”

The Winter Solstice Ball seems like it was a million years ago, but really, it was only a matter of weeks. Feelings like budlets have bloomed into roses. Fresh, fragrant, affectionate. We’re entwined now, me and Simon. The ring on his very hand is what binds us together. A little part of my soul is in him.

“We’ll be all right, Simon,” I tell him gently, my lips brushing against his forehead. “Things may look bleak, but I think we’ll be all right.”

“You okay with dating a Normal?” he asks, standing still in the middle of the floor.

A deep chuckle resonates through me like a gong. “You’re anything but, Simon Snow.”

Soft lips find mine when I least expect it. They’re warm, comforting, familiar. They remind me of home and peppermint, of sitting in a study when wind and snow violently rap on the windows. It’s safe, his kiss, and loving, and bright.

 

**Simon**

Baz is my home. Maybe familiarity is what’s best for me. I know Baz is.

 

**Baz**

One arm wraps around his waist, the other hand cups his chin. Tilting his head slightly, a get a better feel for his lips and for a certain level of warmth. Our lips meld together perfectly, I know he’s meant for me and just me. Passion flares in the most innocent of kisses and I love it, I love him.

The indescribable feeling in the pit of my stomach confirms Simon loves me as well.

“Simon,” I whisper, resting my forehead against his once I reluctantly.

“Hmm…”

“I am stupidly in love with you.”

A lazy smile spreads across Simon’s cheeks, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s beyond tired.

“When does the Mage come down to the add-on?” I ask him again, wanting an answer this time.

“Seven,” he mumbles, his weight steadily shifting into my arms. Obvious that he’s going to fall asleep, I whip out my wand and make everything disappear. We’re out of the chamber of secrets as soon as I add my myself to the **alohomora** spell.

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Pitch,” Penelope groans as I enter the entrance hall of the school. I forgot to mention that I locked the front doors, so I mutter the counterspell and the restraints fall.

“Had to make sure the Mage couldn’t come in and forgot to mention it. Speaking of, we’re having a meeting tomorrow and Fiona’s coming.”

Bunce strides by my side as we sneak towards the Mummers house. Simon is in my arms, asleep. “How’s she going to get in?”

“She has her ways, being the former headmistress’ sister.” I shrug. “Sometimes, I sneak into the office. The bastard changed it since Mum’s time.”

“Don’t speak of Simon’s dad like that, Baz… we know he’s an ass, but—”

“He used the killing curse in front of Snow to kill a fly, Bunce. I can call him what I want.”

For a moment I continue to walk, but when I realize Penelope isn’t at my side, I turn back to see her standing there, looking distressed.

“Just…tell me when,” she says and walks off in the direction of the Cloisters.

Simon is passed out by the time I open the door. The room is dark but illuminates with a quiet spell I mutter under my breath. Sleeping at Simon’s side might be a bit hard, but I’ll make it work.

I place him on the bed, lock the door with Bunce’s invention, and climb in with him. Almost like instinct, a wing wraps around me. Then, he buries his face in my chest, inhaling, exhaling. A steady heartbeat comforts me more than arouses me, so my eyes weigh heavy.

Darkness envelops me before I can press a kiss to his forehead.


End file.
